


The Parseltongue Twins: Year Four

by blackholebabey



Series: the parseltwins [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Dark, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, Evil Albus Dumbledore, Gen, Good Voldemort (Harry Potter), Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, Voldemort is Harry Potter's Parent, Voldemort is Hermione Granger's Parent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 68,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28078383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackholebabey/pseuds/blackholebabey
Summary: A deadly tournament for school children has been resurrected despite its horrid history. The ministry intends to interfere with Hogwarts business. And worst of all: Gellert Grindelwald has escaped Nurmengard Prison and is on the run with Albus Dumbledore. Join Hydrus and Hermione as they try to survive their wildest school year yet.Fourth installment of the Parseltongue Twins series.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Bartemius Crouch Jr./Nymphadora Tonks, Regulus Black/Severus Snape, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, canon relationships for the parents, crushes and dates but no teen pairings yet
Series: the parseltwins [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849585
Comments: 231
Kudos: 319





	1. The Riddle Boy

**Author's Note:**

> i don't own these characters

_**1938** _

There was something not quite right about Tom Riddle. Albus needed only to look at the young boy—the little thief from Wool’s Orphanage known for scaring the other children with his accidental magic—to know there was something terribly, terribly wrong with him. What it was, Albus wasn’t yet sure, but he decided then and there that he’d need to keep an eye on this one.

It wasn’t often that muggle-born children already bore the taint of something unnerving, of something sinister. That tended to be a trait only found in pureblood children of Dark families. They’d grown up around that evil, learned it at their parents’ knee, and allowed it to consume them. Albus shuddered to think what it might be that this orphaned boy with a muggle name would have achieved such corruption on his own.

The boy’s appearance didn’t make things easier. He was quiet, watchful, with the tense posture of a snake about to strike. And his eyes… those eyes… The matron of the orphanage had claimed the boy had albinism in his eyes, but their color was far too deep a red for Albus to buy such an excuse. Eyes like that only came about from profound involvement with the Dark Arts. It was rumored that Salazar Slytherin himself had those same red eyes…

“Good afternoon, Tom,” Albus said, forcing himself to sound friendly despite his growing belief that this strange little boy was too much a danger to set foot on Hogwarts grounds. People like him didn’t deserve a place in the wizarding world.

Tom arched an accusing eyebrow. “Why are you here?” he demanded to know in an unexpected Cockney accent. “Are you another doctor? You’re certainly not a priest, anyway, not dressed like that.”

“What makes you think I’m a doctor?” Albus genuinely wanted to know. Perhaps there truly was something wrong with the boy, something the muggles were already working to fix. He doubted they could truly do anything to help him, but any records about the boy could prove useful for St. Mungo’s healers.

“The matron thinks I’m mad,” Tom spat. “But she’s the one who’s mad, blaming me for every little thing that happens around here. Honestly, some of the things she claims about me just aren’t possible!”

Albus wondered if this sort of outburst was why the matron had warned him that the boy was a chronic liar. Hardly a minute had passed and young Tom was already trying to place the blame for his actions onto others.

“Well, Tom, I can assure you I’m not a doctor,” Albus told the boy. “In fact, I’m a teacher, and I’m here to offer you a spot at my school.”

Tom eyed him curiously, though there was still an element of distrust in his gaze. “A school, you say? What kind of school?”

“A school for children who are… gifted, you could say—children who are different.”

Rather than appeasing the boy, Albus’s explanation only made him more defensive. “It’s some sort of institution then? Or is it simply a madhouse that you’re trying to upsell?”

“No, not at all, Tom,” Albus replied, shaking his head. This boy must have had a hell of a time with the muggle mind doctors over the years. “It’s a school for witches and wizards, for people who have magic. People like you and me.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Prove it.”

The rest of the visit went in much the same fashion, with the boy switching from skeptical to defensive to angry—only ever resembling a normal, innocent young boy when hearing about the Hogwarts curriculum. It didn’t take much to convince the boy to attend after that. The lure of learning new magic seemed to be the only thing to keep the worst of his personality at bay.

Just as Albus was about to escape the boy’s unsettling aura, Tom called out: “Just one more question, please. _I can speak to snakes, too. They find me, whisper things. Is that normal for someone like me?”_

Albus’s breath caught in his chest. A parselmouth? Perhaps the boy wasn’t a muggle-born at all. Only the worst pureblood wizards were parselmouths.

“It’s very rare,” Albus said slowly, not wanting to let the boy realize the evilness of his skill, “but not unheard of.”

Tom let out a long sigh that might have been relief if a boy like him were capable of normal emotions like worry. “Oh. Good.”

“Indeed.”

Finally, Albus made his escape. He worried that the boy would be a liability at Hogwarts, or worse, an outright threat to the other students. Children with such Dark, dangerous inclinations shouldn’t be allowed to study magic in his opinion. They just go on to use what they’d learned in their criminal plots. Teaching them was a waste of time and energy.

He shook his head. If the boy proved to be a problem, he could always send him to Gellert. After all, it wasn’t as if anyone would miss the scrawny little monster.

_**1942** _

Two students had been found petrified, and Albus wasn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, harm had come to students, and he was certain Tom Riddle was the culprit. On the other hand, the petrified students had been purebloods from Dark families who’d had a history of disciplinary action. Albus didn’t know whether to allow the school to be cleansed of Dark influence, or to put a stop to Tom once and for all.

Everything Albus had worried about when it came to young Tom Riddle had proved true. He’d been sorted into Slytherin the moment the Sorting Hat had touched his head, and, even with his secondhand robes and muggle name, had quickly earned his house’s respect. He’d practiced the posh accent of his pureblood compatriots until his Cockney accent disappeared—one of the countless pureblood traits he’d taken on through studying the other Slytherin students. By the end of his second year, it was nearly impossible to discern the boy’s background.

Albus had expressed his concerns to Gellert a number of times, but, much to his surprise, his oldest and dearest friend was merely intrigued by what he heard. “Let him grow up to be a Dark Lord,” Gellert had said airly one afternoon. “You may well need a backup one after we have our showdown, just in case the fame and glory start to fade.”

After that, Albus decided to worry a little bit less about what Tom was up to.

But this petrification issue was concerning. What if Tom moved on from Dark purebloods and started going after Light students and muggle-borns? Albus didn’t care what Headmaster Dippet believed. This was Tom’s doing, and it was only a matter of time before truly innocent victims started showing up.

Still, there was nothing he could do without hard proof. For now, Albus would have to sit back, waiting and watching, until the moment was finally right to strike.

_**1943** _

Tom Riddle had been quiet and withdrawn ever since the murder of Myrtle Warren, and Albus Dumbledore couldn’t stand that fact. Gone was the jaded little sociopath with hand-me-down robes and an obsession with dropping his Cockney accent in order to sound higher than his true station in life. Not a trace remained of the arrogant, controlling Slytherin Prince who, despite his half-blood status, had students from the Most Ancient and Noble families worshipping him like a god made mortal. All that remained was a hollow caricature of the former monster within.

Albus was certain that Tom had been the one to kill Myrtle Warren, which made the boy’s apathy towards life all the more bizarre. Was the boy truly too weak to stomach the murder, or was it something more sinister? Perhaps Tom had been… disappointed in whatever rush he might have hoped to gain from having the girl’s blood on his hands… Albus shook his head. It painted a terrifying picture if the latter proved to be true.

And then the unthinkable happened. While in the Staff Room, he’d overheard Horace Slughorn tell Galatea Merrythought about a particularly sinister conversation he’d had with one of his Slug Club members the previous evening. Tom Riddle, it turned out, had been asking about horcruxes.

“I tried telling him not to bother with it in the hopes that he’d drop it. Such a disgusting topic. I didn’t have the heart to inflict it upon him,” Galatea had said, shaking her head. “But I’m sure you know how he gets whenever he finds something he hasn’t heard of before.”

Horace had chuckled heartily at that. “Oh, yes. Tom can be quite obsessive in his pursuit of new knowledge. I told him the basics, but he’ll have to read up about the rest on his own. Nasty business, horcruxes.”

“That might explain why he looked so ill when I saw him in the library this morning,” Galatea pondered.

“Yes, I imagine so.”

Albus didn’t need to hear any more. Tom had discovered one of the few paths to immortality, and the most morally bankrupt one at that. There was no telling how much of a threat he’d be if he ever succeeded in making one.

It had been a stroke of luck when, merely an hour later, Albus happened upon Tom in the corridors. He was on patrol as part of his Head Boy duties, a title the boy didn’t at all deserve. 

“Hello, Tom,” he greeted the boy with false joviality.

Tom inclined his head. “Evening, Professor Dumbledore,” he slowly, suspiciously replied.

“I understand you asked Professor Slughorn about horcruxes,” Albus said in as non-threatening a tone as he could manage. The boy’s defensive personality made him nearly impossible to deal with at times. If only he could be as straightforward as the Gryffindor students… 

Tom sucked in an unsteady breath. “Yes, sir. I…” he hesitated, looking down at the floor. “I came across the term while doing research for my final project in Defense, and I couldn’t figure out what it was. I had hoped Professor Slughorn could explain it to me so that I’d know if it was relevant to my research.”

“Why not ask Professor Merrythought?” Albus asked, feigning curiosity. “Wouldn’t have made more sense to seek the advice of your Defense professor for a question relating to her class?”

Tom frowned, and, for just a brief moment, Albus allowed himself to wonder if he’d finally caught the boy redhanded. It had been his dream to prove the boy was evil ever since he’d met him that day in the orphanage. But so far, Tom had been far too careful at covering his tracks. Whatever he was up to, Albus was determined to find out.

“I don’t mean any respect to Professor Merrythought, she isn’t the most thorough when it comes to explaining Dark magic,” Tom confessed through gritted teeth. “She has a tendency to simply tell us that something is Dark or dangerous without telling us why that is.” He paused, carefully considering his next words in that unnaturally eloquent way Albus couldn’t stand. “Professor Slughorn, on the other hand, has always taught us exactly why certain potions are highly regulated or else banned from use. I felt that, no matter how ugly the explanation, Professor Slughorn wouldn’t hesitate to tell me.”

Albus gritted his teeth. The boy’s explanation matched up almost perfectly with what he’d heard in the Staff Room. 

“May I ask what you thought of Professor Slughorn’s explanation?” Albus finally asked, unsure of what else to say.

Tom paled. “I thought it was vile, sir.”

Albus could only nod in agreement.

_**1955** _

It had been a decade since Albus and Gellert had staged their grand duel of Good vs. Evil, and everything was going according to plan. Gellert was safely ensconced in Nurmengard, which was known one of the more lax wizarding prisons despite it being a seemingly impenetrable fortress. He’d have more freedoms there than any other prison in the world—even if he did have to give up his experiments and access to the outside world for the time being.

Albus, meanwhile, was thriving. He’d been appointed Head of the ICW, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Wizarding Britain had declared him their new Light Lord without his having to do much more than let the right people hear whispered suggestions of such a title. Everything was going exactly as planned.

There was, however, one unknown variable to account for: Tom Riddle. He’d all but disappeared after graduating Hogwarts, staying entirely out of the spotlight despite everyone’s expectations that he’d go on to do great things. Albus smiled to himself at the idea of the boy’s failure to thrive. He’d always known someone as Dark as Tom would never amount to anything in polite society.

Albus had taken Gellert’s advice to give the boy a chance to become a Dark Lord just in case the fame of defeating the previous one ever started to fade. He’d left the book on horcruxes in the Restricted Section of the library until Tom had graduated, and had quietly told a few of his allies not to hire the boy should he look for work in the Ministry. Being blocked from prestigious work, combined with the instability from Dark soul magic, might just be the push he needed to turn the boy into a truly evil wizard.

And then, a week ago, Albus was given the opportunity to spy on Tom and see what had become of him so far. The boy had applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching post. His resume had been impressive enough—with him having earned his Defense mastery a few years prior—but his employment history had left quite a lot to be desired. A shop assistant at Borgin and Burke’s. Sporadic dueling competitions in the local circuit. Barely more than a year as a cursebreaker for Gringotts. His practical experience left much to be desired. It was everything Albus could have hoped for.

Now he had a young, eager—albeit drawn and exhausted looking—Tom Riddle sitting in his office, hopeful that he’d be hired for a job Albus never had any intention of giving him. No, even if Tom’s resume had been beyond outstanding, Albus wouldn’t have allowed him to teach students. He could not allow a mind like Tom’s to influence the next generation of students.

“I must admit I was surprised to see your name among the list of applicants, Tom,” Albus lied easily. “You’d never shown any interest in teaching in all your years here.”

Tom arched an incredulous eyebrow. “Is that so? I take it, then, that former Headmaster Armando Dippet didn’t inform you that I’d asked if it was possible to apprentice with former Professor Merrythought during my seventh year.”

“No, he did not.” Another lie. Albus had heard _plenty_ about the “charming, ambitious young gentleman” and his supposed dreams of being an educator for days and days after the event had happened. “Tell me, is that why you pursued your Defense mastery? So that you may one day have an opportunity to teach?” 

“It’s been a desire of mine ever since I stepped foot in Hogwarts,” Tom replied with a smile. “This school and its staff have given me some of the best memories of my life. To pass on that gift to the next generation would be an honor.”

Tom certainly knew the right words to say; Albus would give him that much. He almost sounded genuine. Had Albus not spent nearly two decades distrusting everything that came from the boy’s mouth, he might have even fallen for it.

“Ah, yes,” Albus said. “I myself find that teaching children how to control their magic is one of the most rewarding things in the world.” He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to bring up Tom’s unsavory employment history. “I’m a touch curious about your years at Borgin and Burke’s. It’s not often someone working on their Defense mastery takes a job selling Dark artefacts.”

“Not all their wares are Dark in nature,” Tom defended, “though I won’t deny that some of them are. However, a job’s a job, and I needed funds to pay for my mastery. For as awful as he can be towards the customers, Borgin was good to me. He paid well and even gave me flexible hours so I could study and take my exams.”

Albus had to wonder what else Borgin might have done for Tom.

The rest of the interview was a delicate dance of trying to confirm Tom’s true motives. All he’d managed to confirm was that the boy was far too invested in molding the minds of students, and that there was no way his over-wrought condition was from the busy schedule of curse-breaking alone. His appearance was far more like that of someone who’d spent too much time under the influence of addictive Dark magic. Albus couldn’t help but suspect that Tom had made a horcrux after all.

In the end, Albus didn’t get evidence of his suspicions and Tom didn’t get the Defense post. Neither were happy with the outcome. Albus, however, felt it was a definite victory compared to whatever humiliation Tom must’ve been facing at being rejected for the job. Little did he know that no professor would ever again last more than a year in the position until Remus Lupin took the job in 1993.

_**1970** _

Wizarding Britain spoke in awe of Voldemort, the newcomer on the scene who, with the support of purebloods and muggle-borns alike, was reviving the ancient and forgotten practices. Knowledge was expanding, and magic flourished in this modern-day Renaissance. Both Gray and Dark magic were making a comeback, with everyone feeling more comfortable in displaying their core affinities than since before Gellert Grindelwald’s reign of terror. The whole wizarding world, it seemed, had become vibrant once more.

Albus couldn’t stand it. The magics that had been forgotten or otherwise abandoned had been left that way for a reason. It didn’t matter how much they improved the health of magic as a whole. They were simply too evil and too dangerous to be practiced.

His fame had begun to fade as well. People were still grateful that he’d “defeated” Gellert all those years ago, but, for the most part, they’d moved onto newer celebrities. Abraxas Malfoy, though not Chief Warlock, was the darling of the Wizengamot. Tom Riddle was captivating the brightest and most curious witches and wizards under his new monicker of Lord Voldemort. Even Fleamont Potter’s beautification potions now got more publicity than anything Albus did. He was becoming a thing of the past.

At the thought of Tom Riddle, an idea popped into Albus’ mind. Hadn’t Gellert always suggested he keep his options open so that he could make the boy into the next Dark Lord to be defeated? Perhaps it was finally time to do so. All he’d need was a few properly inflammatory articles printed in the _Daily Prophet_ , and the public would come to realize the true evil that was Tom Riddle.


	2. Obscurial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hermione learns the truth about some of dumbledore's old plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. fuck both jk rowling and dumbledore

Every single _Daily Prophet_ headline screamed in terror over the escape of Gellert Grindelwald ever since the news broke three weeks prior. Neither hide nor hair had been of him or Dumbledore since the break-out occurred, but it seemed that this prolonged silence only worsened the wizarding world’s anxiety over what the duo might do when they finally made their presence known. They could be hiding anywhere, doing anything, and that was what frightened people the most.

This morning’s paper had been particularly alarming. According to correspondent Verity Taylor, rumors were spreading across France that Grindelwald and Dumbledore had been attempting mind control on werewolves so that they could create a rabid werewolf army. Ms. Taylor had been considerate enough to remind the public that most sentient magical creatures had some level of immunity to the Imperius Curse and other forms of compulsion magic, but the rumors induced panic nonetheless.

Fourteen year old Hermione Gaunt-Lestrange thought it was all quite ridiculous. Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore were _old_. Powerful, yes, but still very, very old. It was far more likely that one or both of them were still recovering from the break-out—and whatever physical or magical exhaustion had come with it—rather than preparing to pull off some sinister plot.

That wasn’t to say that she wasn’t worried about what the two false lords might do. She was. She just didn’t think people needed to start panicking this early on, not when there was likely plenty of time to start preparing for a counter-attack. After all, every day that Grindelwald and Dumbledore waited in the shadows was another that the rest of them could use for more important things like research or training.

Hermione, for her part, had spent her entire summer break thus far devouring every single book in every single one of her family’s libraries that she could get her hands on. She wasn’t permitted to help in the upcoming war in an official capacity due to her age, but there were no rules against helping her dad and Uncle Rabastan research the opposition and the tactics they’d used in the past. She’d learned more about her former headmaster and his history in the past few weeks than in the entire two years she’d been at the same school as him. And what she had found so far was shocking.

Albus Dumbledore’s family had been anti-muggle—especially his father, who had been arrested for attacking several young muggle boys. The family had maintained that his actions were in retaliation for those boys hurting his daughter Arianna and turning her against her own magic. Arianna had indeed been attacked, but certain things weren’t adding up. From what Uncle Rabastan found, records showed that the girl was already magically unstable long before the attack occurred. Arianna had likely suffered from a medical affliction similar to a muggle autoimmune disorder where her body saw magic as an illness that needed to be fought against. It was degenerative in nature, and, if exacerbated by violent events, could cause the afflicted to become an obscurial. There were treatment options for the rare disease now, but back in those days, children who exhibited the symptoms were seen as disturbed individuals who shouldn’t be introduced to polite society.

Coincidentally, Hermione learned that this condition could be triggered in seemingly healthy individuals by repeated abusive treatment over an extended period of time. Gellert Grindelwald had studied the connection extensively during his experiments in creating obscurials—magically unstable and potentially dangerous young people who had no control over the way their magic lashed out to protect them. His research on the subject, according to one author who’d studied the vile work, had been based almost entirely on his interactions with Arianna Dumbledore. He had wanted to make an army of children like her.

“That’s despicable!” Dad spat when Hermione showed him what she’d found. “Not only is it inhumane to treat children like that, but the disease already takes decades off a person’s life even when it _isn’t_ pushed to the extreme like that.” He huffed, shaking his head.   
“And for what? So he could have an army of human timebombs?”

“Human timebombs?” Hermione repeated, startled by the very idea of such a thing.

Uncle Rabastan nodded sagely. “That was how the obscurials were used in Grindelwald’s War,” he explained, “at least for the most part. He’d stress them out beyond belief and then portkey them to whatever town he wanted destroyed. They’d inevitably lose control and blow up their surroundings—killing themselves in the process.”

Hermione’s heart dropped into her stomach. What a vile concept! She couldn’t believe that there was someone out there capable of exploiting an already vulnerable subset of the population, let alone as lethal weapons of war. Children were supposed to be sacred to the wizarding world, yet Grindelwald had transformed them into child suicide bombers.

Even when she’d read the phrase “obscurial army”, it hadn’t occurred to her just how depraved it was. She had foolishly assumed it would be more akin to extreme bursts of accidental magic, like when her brother had apparated at the age of seven or when she’d locked an unlockable closet when she was six because she’d believed a monster lived in it. That it would cost the lives of the already traumatized obscurials made Hermione sick to her stomach.

“You don’t… he won’t do that again, will he?” she asked despite already knowing the answer.

“The chances are high that he will,” Dad said solemnly.

“To be quite honest,” Uncle Rabastan admitted, “I’ve had my suspicions that Dumbledore was already in the process of trying to create his own obscurials in case the day arrived that he’d need to free Grindelwald and resume what they’d started all those years ago.”

Dad turned and glared at his brother. “I thought we agreed not to bring that up unless we were certain.”

“No,” Uncle Rabastan countered, “that was just what you wanted. _I_ wanted to inform everyone from the very beginning.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Dad told him, his tone sharp. “He can’t do it while on the run.”

“You don’t know that! He could find new kids to experiment on!”

As her dad and uncle continued to argue amongst themselves, Hermione noticed that something wasn’t adding up. Or rather, things were adding up in an unexpected manner. To get away with secretly conducting these experiments, Dumbledore would’ve needed unfettered access to children whose suffering wouldn’t be noticed. This was all well and good during the school year while the students were away from their parents, but there was always the risk of their family finding out over the summer or else receiving a letter about the horrid treatment. It wouldn’t be worth it to target just any old student.

She began to wonder if he’d been targeting orphans. After all, they’d be the most vulnerable students and were the least likely to tell someone what was happening to them. But then she remembered that the only orphan she knew was Susan Bones, who was being raised by her aunt Amelia—the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Madame Bones would have never allowed mistreatment of her niece, so it simply wasn’t possible for her to have been one of Dumbledore’s potential victims.

Neville’s parents had been incapacitated until the end of their second year, but his upbringing hadn’t been influenced by Dumbledore either. Instead, he’d been raised by his strict grandmother and, occasionally, his Great-Uncle Algie. They still believed in the barbaric practice of trying to scare magic out children, but besides the time he’d fallen out of a window and bounced to safety, they’d never put Neville in any true danger. It wasn’t a very nice thing to do to a child, but he’d never been at risk for becoming an obscurial.

The longer Hermione thought about it, the more difficult it became to track down just who might have been one of Dumbledore’s supposed experiments. Purebloods and wizard-raised families put too much importance on children’s welfare to let them become obscurials, and it would have been nearly impossible for him to gain access to muggle-raised kids. In fact, the only person she could think of who’d been raised by muggles that had contact with Dumbledore was—

Hydrus!

It all made sense! A supposed orphan with no family left in the magical world, Dumbledore had managed to assume the role of Hydrus’ magical guardian almost entirely unopposed. Those who did go against him—like Uncle Lucius and Aunt Andromeda both separately had—were quickly labeled as Dark wizards and Death Eaters, and their every attempt at putting the boy with the right people was shut down as “kidnapping”. And then he’d gone and left Hydrus with those horrible muggles who he must have known hated magic! There was no way he didn’t know exactly what those Dursleys would do to a magical child.

“I’ll kill him,” Hermione muttered to herself. “I’ll kill him, and I’ll make sure he spends every second of it in agony.”

Her dad and uncle turned towards her, shock written all over their faces. “You’ve figured it out then?” Uncle Rabastan hesitantly asked.

“Hydrus,” she confirmed. “It’s so obvious now that I’ve thought about it. But why? I thought he wanted him to be his perfect Light hero ‘Harry Potter’.”

Dad shot his brother an irritated look, but finally explained it to her. “Harry Potter was going to be a martyr that Dumbledore would later avenge. He was never supposed to survive in his battle against the Dark Lord, at least not if everything had played out the way Dumbledore had hoped. Pushing him into becoming an obscurial would have been just as useful as allowing him to be murdered.”

Hermione paled. To think that a monster like Dumbledore had been allowed free reign for a school full of children as long as he had when he thought so little of their right to live…

“But I don’t believe it was Hydrus he’d hoped would become an obscurial,” Dad continued slowly, watching her every reaction. “He knew of the reputation Wool’s Orphanage had long before he left you there.”

“That, and an increased risk of developing the affliction that causes obscurials runs in the Black family,” Uncle Rabastan added. “It’s one of the many reasons why their line is seen as so unstable.”

“I know your muggles weren’t good to you,” her dad said, “but I truly believe that, if you’d spent your first eleven years at Wool’s like Dumbledore had expected, you’d have become an obscurial.”

Hermione’s chest constricted so tight that she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t remember much from her short, few years at Wool’s Orphanage, but she _did_ remember how miserable it had been. There hadn’t been nearly enough adult supervision and the adults who were there had been negligent at best, so the children had taken it upon themselves to self-govern. This inevitably led to a Lord of the Flies scenario where the biggest and strongest kids made up all the rules while everyone else prayed they didn’t upset their newly appointed overlords. It had been terrifying for a tiny, unusual girl like Hermione.

Luckily, she’d been adopted out just shy of her fifth birthday and hadn’t suffered the way some of the older children had. She was seen as an oddity due to her having already taught herself to read by the age of four, her excessively quiet demeanor, and her seeming inability to relate to the other children. Yet, due to her age, the worst she’d gotten was harassment and the occasional shove for being a bookish loner.

“Why bother?” the kids had jeered. “Don’t you know orphans never amount to anything?”

Hermione shook those awful memories from her head. That part of her life was a decade behind her now, and the subsequent loneliness of the Granger household was no more than a distant memory as well. She’d proved each and every one of them wrong about her ages ago.

“Right then,” she decided, ignoring the concerned looks on her dad and uncle’s faces. “Well, it didn’t happen and it won’t happen, so we’ll move on with our research as planned.”

Her dad arched an incredulous eyebrow. “Are you sure? It’s okay if you’re not alright. I can’t even imagine how upsetting this must—”

Hermione shut her dad up with a determined glare. “I’m not fine,” she confessed, “but I’ll be much better if we can find a way to put a stop to Albus Dumbledore.”

And even if she wasn’t fine after that, she’d at least get her revenge for what he’d done to her.

Dad and Uncle Rabastan gave each other one last worried glance and got to work. If this was how Hermione wanted to deal with what they’d told her, who were they to argue?

*****

Hermione spent the next few days diligently researching everything she could find on Dumbledore’s past. She wasn’t looking for old tactics and previous patterns anymore, though. Instead, she was on a mission to unearth his past crimes. She and her brother were hardly his victims. It was just a matter of finding the others.

She was so absorbed in her reading that she didn’t notice the soft, rhythmic sound of footsteps entering the library, or even the soft thud of a body dropping into the chair across from her.

“I understand you’re looking for potential victims of Dumbledore’s cruelty.”

Hermione startled at the sound of her father’s voice, nearly dropping her book. Her eyes darted upwards to see him sitting at the other side of the table. He was watching her with a mildly amused expression on his face, entertained at having so easily snuck up on her.

“You won’t find them in any biography,” her father continued, “authorized or otherwise. You’d be better off cross-referencing names of the missing and dead from Grindelwald’s war with a list of students who attended Hogwarts during those years. It wasn’t unheard of for kids to simply vanish back then.”

“Missing students?” Hermione repeated, interested and a bit embarrassed. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that on her own.

“We always did notice that a handful of students didn’t return from the summer holidays each year,” her father admitted. “At the time, most of us chalked it up to the Second World War, but now… well, it came out pretty quickly after Grindelwald was defeated what he’d done to those kids. But one must wonder how he came to find them when he’d spent so little time in Britain.”

Cold dread washed over Hermione as the realization sunk in. “You think Dumbledore was supplying him with Hogwarts students.”

“Or at least where they could be found during the summers,” her father confirmed.

“But that’s so… so immoral!”

Father let out a put-upon sigh. “I rather thought we’d all figured that out by now.”

“I just…” Hermione felt her face heat up, and she knew it must be bright red. “The rules about keeping confidential the information in Rowena Ravenclaw’s List of Students go all the way back to the time of the witch hunts. Is nothing sacred?”

“Not to Albus Dumbledore, no.”

“Clearly.”

The amused expression returned to her father’s face. “You do realize that he’s indirectly responsible for thousands upon thousands of deaths, right?”

“And he’s directly responsible for the deaths of those in Rowena Ravenclaw’s List of Students!” Hermione countered. She refused to let it go that Dumbledore had violated the contract of her ancestor’s enchanted artefact. It was nearly as personal to her as knowing what he’d hoped she’d become. “Whether he handed the information or the students themselves to Grindelwald matters little. Their blood is on his hands.”

“They’re not the only ones,” her father pointed out.

“The Potters,” Hermione remembered. “And… and you.”

In her obsession with tracking down historical victims of Albus Dumbledore, she’d forgotten about the recent ones. There was nothing at all indirect about what the former headmaster had done at Godric’s Hollow. He had entered the Potters’ home and killed both Lily and James in cold blood just because they’d discovered the “orphan” they’d adopted wasn’t an orphan at all. After he was finished with them, he’d had every intention of killing Father and Hydrus as well. If it hadn’t been for the protective runic magic Father had cast, they might both be dead. As it was, Father had still suffered a decade as nothing more than a wraith while Hydrus had been trapped in an abusive home.

While it had been discovered that Alastor Moody had been the one to kidnapped Hermione and her brother from their family home, it was Dumbledore who had decided upon their placement. Hydrus was to be their replacement “Harry Potter”, and Hermione—the spare they had no plans for—had been abandoned on the doorstep of an orphanage. The same orphanage her father had been forced to return to every summer during the height of the London Blitz…

It seemed that no one had suffered more from Dumbledore’s actions than her father.

How could she have been so thoughtless? She and the most important people in her life had been targeted by Dumbledore for decades, and she’d barely written a word about it in her notes.

Seeming to sense his daughter’s inner turmoil, Father suggested, “Why don’t you take a break for a little while? You haven’t spent much time with your cousins so far this summer, and I’m sure they’re starting to miss you.”

Hermione knew an attempt at appeasement when she saw one, but, rather than call her father out on it, she decided to take his advice. After all, her father was right. She’d spent nearly every waking moment of her summer holidays holed up in the library, nose buried in one horrid book about Dumbledore or Grindelwald after another—making little progress in her plans to protect her family and friends in the upcoming war. It was high time she took a step back and allowed herself some time with the very people she wanted to protect.


	3. Longbottom Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> neville's birthday party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. needed to inject a bit of levity into this before the world cup and then triwizard tournament

With the end of July came the fourteenth birthday of Neville Longbottom, and this year, the Longbottom family was doing things differently. Because Neville had been such a shy child, he’d never wanted a birthday party—always insisting he just wanted a quiet dinner to celebrate whenever his gran would ask. But now he was older and more confident and had plenty of friends, and so, for the first time since Neville was a toddler, there was going to be a big birthday bash at Longbottom Manor.

He knew he’d made a lot of friends since starting at Hogwarts, but it wasn’t until he started drafting the guest list that he realized just how many. There were, of course, the friends he’d made in his own house: Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan (mostly just because he and Dean seemed to be a set), Dade Gaunt, Colin Creevey, and Ginny Weasley. For as nervous as he’d been about being sorted into Gryffindor, he’d managed to adjust quite well.

Next were his friends from Hufflepuff. He was closest to Ron Weasley and Hannah Abbott, but he’d gotten to know Susan Bones quite well over the past year or so—mostly through his friendship with Hannah. There was also Justin Finch-Fletchley, but that was more due to Ron and Draco being their mutual friends.

Speaking of Draco, Neville still couldn’t believe at times that he’d befriended people in Slytherin. He’d grown up hearing stories about the intense rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and had worried that they’d see him as the easiest target for bullying compared to the other lions. Instead, Draco Malfoy and Hydrus Lestrange (who he’d originally known as Harry Potter and had therefore seen as far less threatening than the average Slytherin) had warmed up to him even quicker than his own housemates. Pansy Parkinson was another one he’d consider a friend, even if she was more outgoing and over dramatic than what he was used to. It was just such a relief to discover that the rivalry between their houses was vastly overblown.

And last, but certainly not least, were the Ravenclaws. Much like with Pansy, Fred and George Weasley could be a bit much for Neville at times, but he was on friendly terms with them nonetheless. Hermione Lestrange—Hydrus’ twin sister—had decided upon meeting him that they’d be study partners for any classes they had together, which had led to her friend Padma Patil joining them more often than not. Luna Lovegood, though a year behind them, occasionally showed up to their study sessions as well. Neville wasn’t actually sure if Luna was his friend, but that was mostly just because he hadn’t yet learned to decipher what she was talking about. He was sure, though, that they’d be close as soon as he got the hang of it.

“It looks like it’s going to be quite the turn-out,” his gran said approvingly when the RVSPs starting arriving barely a day after the invitations went out. They’d barely managed to finish breakfast before the first few flew through the sitting room windows. “Oh, look! I never thought I’d see the Malfoy owl landing in our sitting room. My, how the times have changed!”

Neville looked up to see the owl responsible for delivering French chocolates to Draco every month. Pale and regal like the family he belonged to, it perched on the coffee table in front of Gran and stuck out its leg so that she could fetch the letter.

The Malfoy owl was quickly followed by an angry looking barn owl that Neville recognized as belonging to Professor Gaunt. “I’d be careful with that one if I were you,” he warned his gran. “She can be a bit territorial about her mail.”

If his gran was worried, she didn’t show it. Instead, she expertly wrangled the letter off the aggressive owl’s ankle and began to read. “It looks like Daedalus and the Gaunt-Lestrange twins will all be coming to the party.”

Neville grinned at the confirmation. Even as close as they all were, he still suffered from occasional bouts of insecurity, and a small part of him had worried that they wouldn’t want to come. It was a relief to know this wasn’t the case.

Just then, a small, hyperenergetic owl swooped through the window and made a beeline for Neville’s mum. Neville had seen the owl in the Great Hall a few times last year, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Well who’s it from, Alice?” Gran asked.

Mum chuckled and shook her head as she read the letter. “Bellatrix,” she informed them. “She was offering to help chaperone the party if needed.”

Neville’s eyes went wide at that. He’d only met Hydrus and Hermione’s mum a handful of times, and most of them had been when their parents were recovering at St. Mungo’s together. From what he could remember, Lady Lestrange was an impulsive, excitable sort who seemed to lack any concern for her own safety. He couldn’t imagine her having the level of responsibility it took to chaperone a bunch of teenagers.

It was still strange to think of Bellatrix Lestrange as someone other than the boogeyman from his childhood nightmares. For eleven long years, the entire wizarding world had believed that she, Barty Crouch Jr., and the Lestrange brothers had tortured Neville’s parents to the point of insanity. And then, miraculously, his parents were cured and the truth of who had really attacked them came to light. Gilderoy Lockhart, had he never been discovered, would have condemned six people to death with his insidious plots.

“I do hope you’ll be declining Bellatrix’s offer,” said Gran, a slight disapproving frown pulling at the corners of her lips. “She’d be more likely to get the kids into trouble than keep them out of it.”

Mum just smiled. “I suppose you’re right about that. Still, I think I might like having another adult around for the day… even if it _is_ one as scatterbrained as her.”

Gran started to protest, but Neville simply shook his head. His birthday party was certainly going to be interesting.

*****

It was finally the day of Neville’s birthday party, and Hydrus was thrilled. His entire summer up until now had been so focused on the upcoming war with Dumbledore and Grindelwald that he’d all but forgotten how to relax. He’d been uneasy, on edge, and so distracted by worst-case future scenarios that he was barely sleeping. And then, one glorious morning, a single party invitation reminded him that it was still possible to have fun.

While Neville wasn’t his closest friend, he had a camaraderie with the young Gryffindor that the rest of his peers—save for Hermione—would never be able to understand. They’d grown up believing themselves to be orphans (or as good as) and lied to for years about who was responsible for that fact. Those deceptions had left Hydrus bitter and Neville anxious for so long that even now, more than a year after their families were put back together, they still bore the scars of having been ripped from them in the first place.

But Hydrus wasn’t the only one who was excited to attend Neville’s birthday party. Dade had been talking about it nonstop ever since the invitation arrived a week prior. While Dade’s true passion was magical creatures, the two had a common interest in herbology and spent a great deal of time discussing semi-sentient plants in the Gryffindor Common Room. Sometimes Ginny and Colin would even join them, though they listened more than they contributed.

“I wonder if Neville would be willing to show me some of his vampire pumpkins,” Dade had said wistfully after bringing up the Longbottom greenhouses for what seemed like the millionth time.

Hydrus—who had never heard of vampire pumpkins and wasn’t sure if Dade was just messing with him—turned to Hermione, who nodded in confirmation that such a thing did in fact exist.

“Is that…” Hydrus was still struggling to accept that such a thing was real and couldn’t quite decide what it was he was asking. “Is that safe?”

Dade shrugged. “Not really, but it’s not like we’ll be there during the full moon. That’s when they’re at their most bloodthirsty.”

Hydrus decided to take his word for it.

By the time the teens arrived at Longbottom Manor, Hydrus knew more about semi-sentient and otherwise dangerous plants than he ever would have cared to learn on his own. He was fairly certain that some of them wouldn’t even be discussed in Herbology class during his entire seven years at Hogwarts due to how advanced their care was. And while some of it had been interesting, the sheer amount of information Dade had shared with him had all begun to blend together in his mind, creating a Frankenstein of knowledge that didn’t quite make sense.

“But why are they called man-eating trees if they don’t actually eat men?” he’d asked Dade as they entered through the front gate and towards the party.

Just as Dade was about to reply, a sharp shout cut through the air.

“ALICE!”

Hydrus jumped at his mum’s elated shrieking, watching in startled fascination as she launched herself at Neville’s mother in a tight embrace. He’d known the two had gotten close during their time in St. Mungo’s together, but he’d never realized they were _that_ close.

“Hello to you, too, dear,” Mrs. Longbottom said with a slight chuckle, patting Hydrus’ mum on the shoulder. “You have no idea how happy I was to receive your offer to help chaperone today.”

“I figured you’d want a bit of help with this lot,” Mum replied, loosening her grip on Mrs. Longbottom so she could gesture to the teens.

“You have no idea how weird it is for me to see this,” Neville whispered from beside him, his arrival having been overshadowed by their mothers’ antics. “It’s only been a year since I’ve stopped thinking of your mum as the enemy. No offense.”

“None taken,” Hydrus assured him. He imagined he’d have felt the same way if he’d seen Father hugging James Potter just after learning the truth about Halloween of 1981. The rational acceptance of events didn’t fully erase the previously reinforced idea that it shouldn’t be possible.

“Well come on, guys!” Dade declared, completely unfazed by the sight in front of him. “We’ve got a birthday to celebrate!”

Hydrus, Hermione, and Dade followed Neville up the winding front path towards the manor—occasionally stopping so Neville could point out some of the plants and animals around the sprawling grounds. Most of it was at least vaguely familiar, but some was entirely new. Regardless, Neville talked about each thing just as passionately as the last.

“What _is_ that?” Dade asked excitedly as he pointed to a black and white lizard who had the same size and mannerisms as an elderly corgi.

“Oh, that’s just my mum’s Argentine tegu,” Neville replied offhandedly. “Completely muggle animal, that one, but he’s great for keeping the boxing hedges from becoming overgrowing.”

Hydrus decided it was best not to ask what boxing hedges were. If they were anything like the name suggested, he’d rather avoid them as best he could.

As soon as the four teens entered through the front door of Longbottom Manor, they were ambushed by Draco and the two youngest Weasleys. Ron had immediately gone off about how he hadn’t heard from them in forever even though he and Hydrus were exchanging letters at least once a week. Draco, meanwhile, was complaining that Neville had left him at the mercies of “such subpar company like Weasel” when he’d gone to collect the Gaunt-Lestranges—earning him a gentle faux-punch on the arm from Ron.

Ginny couldn’t help but laugh at their antics. “Honestly, you act as if you don’t both suck,” she teased them. “If anything, I’m the one who suffered the most in Neville’s absence. The two of you are so bloody annoying.”

“You should be glad, Ginevra, that your mother isn’t here to tell you off for being so unladylike,” Draco retorted.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that’d be anything new. And don’t call me Ginevra. It makes it sound like I’m a grandmother or something.”

“Whatever you say, Ginevra.”

Draco got smacked in the arm for that.

The rest of the guests slowly but surely arrived at the manor, bringing with them all manner of presents and conversation. It was a bit bigger of a turnout that Hydrus had expected, and the arrival of Dean and Seamus had been a bit of a surprise, but everyone managed to get along so seamlessly that one would never suspect that the majority of the guests were from entirely different friend groups. Some of them had barely spoken more than a few words to each other in the past three years of Hogwarts, and yet, somehow, Neville’s party had them all acting like lifelong friends.

But perhaps the strangest of all was Draco and Seamus—who had never once been civil to each other at school and had even outright antagonized one another at times—discussing the upcoming Quidditch World Cup as if it was the sort of thing they did all the time.

“I’m telling you, mate, Ireland’s going to crush Bulgaria!” Seamus proudly declared.

Draco rolled his eyes, acting as though it was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard in his life. “And _I’m_ telling _you_ that Ireland doesn’t stand a chance when the Bulgarian team has Krum as a seeker.”

“You guys are talking about Viktor Krum?” Ron asked excitedly, his conversation with Susan and Hermione quickly forgotten. “He’s the best seeker in the league right now, you know. I’ll bet he beats Augustus Dee’s 1713 record for most consecutive snitches caught.”

“Is that why you fancy him so much?” Hermione teased. “Because he might beat some old record?”

Ron looked absolutely scandalized. “It’s not just any record, Hermione! Dozens of seekers have tried desperately to beat it, but Krum might be the first in nearly three hundred years to stand a chance at doing it!”

Hermione and Susan both wore matching unimpressed expressions, and, in all honesty, Hydrus couldn’t blame them. He loved quidditch, and he even he didn’t know or particularly care about Dee’s record.

“Speaking of quidditch,” Neville interjected, “will anyone else be going to the World Cup? I’ll be there with my parents, but maybe some of us could meet up beforehand?”

“I’ll be there,” Seamus and Draco said at almost the exact same time.

About half of the partygoers confirmed they’d be there, and the other half were the sort who didn’t much care for quidditch and wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway.

“We’re all going as well,” Hydrus told his friends, gesturing to himself, Hermione, and Dade. “The Ministry’s still sucking up to the Lestrange and Black families for the years of wrongful imprisonment, and were feeling generous enough to gift us tickets.”

Ron’s face scrunched up in distaste. “As if quidditch tickets can make up for sending innocent people to Azkaban. Fudge is just trying to save what’s left of his failing political career.”

Hydrus thought that was surprisingly insightful coming from Ron, but he decided against saying so in case his friend took it the wrong way. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin the compliment by implying that he hadn’t expected his friend to realize something like that.

“Aunty Amelia says the same thing whenever Fudge does stuff like that, and I’m inclined to agree,” Susan replied, her lips quirking into a slight frown. “Between putting dementors at Hogwarts and not being able to apprehend Dumbledore, he’s really struggling to keep public opinion in his favor.”

“It certainly doesn’t help that he’s an absolute moron,” Draco added.

A few people chuckled at that.

Eventually, the conversation returned to quidditch—much to Hydrus’ relief and Hermione’s disappointment. Only a casual fan, his sister didn’t have much of anything to contribute to the conversation and only understood about half of what everyone else was saying. Hydrus had even gotten a few questions through their twin bond, usually whenever someone started talking about specific players. She only seemed to recognize the superstars of the sport like Viktor Krum and Gwenog Jones. Everyone else was entirely unknown to her.

By the time Mrs. Longbottom and Hydrus’ mum announced that cake and presents were ready, Hydrus and the others had gotten Hermione caught up on all the basics she’d need to know in order to properly enjoy the upcoming World Cup. She didn’t have the players’ career statistics or broom types memorized like Ron, but she’d at least know who was on which team and what sort of strategies to expect from them. Hydrus knew his sister wasn’t much interested in sports, but she did find them interesting to dissect on a strategic level. She claimed gave the game a more puzzle-like feel that she could better enjoy than back when she thought it was just throwing balls on brooms.

“It’s more like chess when you look at it that way,” Ron agreed, nodding his head excitedly at Hermione’s explanation. “You know, except much faster in pace and way more exciting.”

Hydrus didn’t quite see the connection, but it seemed to work well for both Ron and Hermione.

The rest of Neville’s birthday party went brilliantly. Neville got an incredible assortment of rare plants, herbs, and books—each gift delighting him just as much as the last. As for the guests, they were happy to see their friend happy. It was starting to look like it might be a wonderful, lighthearted summer after all.


	4. The Campsite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the guant/lestrange/black family arrives at the quidditch world cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. italics are yoinked from canon

Hydrus didn’t consider himself a morning person, but he was hardly the sort to spend half the day puttering around and grumbling about how early it was. He’d always gotten up at seven o’clock sharp when he’d lived with the Dursleys, and now, with breakfast at Hogwarts starting at eight, he was still in the habit of getting up earlier than most teenagers thought should be legal. He wasn’t necessarily pleasant to be around when he first rolled out of bed, but he adjusted to being awake for the day quickly enough.

And so, when his mum barged into his bedroom at four-thirty in the morning, Hydrus was more than a little unhappy about it.

“Wakey, wakey!” she crooned from the doorway. “Our portkey leaves in a little over and hour, and we don’t want to miss it!”

Hydrus’ only response was to groan into his pillow.

His mum humphed. “Fine then. I suppose you don’t want to go to the Quidditch World Cup after all…”

Hydrus shot up from the bed, ignoring his mum’s amused cackle. In his sleep-addled state, he’d forgotten that the Quidditch World Cup was today. He rushed into the bathroom to get himself ready. This was going to be the event of the decade, and he didn’t want to miss a single moment of it.

Barely twenty minutes later, Hydrus had showered, brushed his teeth, and thrown some spare robes into an overnight bag. He even made sure to leave a bit of extra space in his bag in case he decided to buy some souvenirs. All in all, he felt proud of how quickly he was able to get everything together, even in his exhausted state.

His sister was already in the dining room when he got there, sipping on a freshly brewed cup of coffee and staring into space. Hermione was a night owl, and Hydrus couldn’t even begin to imagine how agonizing it was for her to have woken up only a handful of hours after she typically fell asleep. Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, he doubted she’d gone to bed at all.

“You look terrible,” he told her by way of greeting.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. “Yeah, well, at least my shirt isn’t on backwards,” she retorted.

Hydrus looked down to see that his shirt was indeed on backwards, and quickly righted it.

“Dad offered me a mild sleeping potion so I could fall asleep early last night,” Hermione admitted as Hydrus sat down across from her and poured himself a cup of tea. “Words can’t begin to describe how much I regret telling him I wouldn’t need it.”

“Well at least you can sleep in the tent once we get camp set up,” Hydrus reminded her, though he knew it wouldn’t be nearly as restful as getting to sleep in her own bed.

Hermione nodded and took a long sip of her coffee. “I’m counting on it.”

“I’ve decided just this morning that I no longer like quidditch,” Dade declared as he meandered into the dining room, his eyes only half open. He sat down beside Hydrus, poured himself a cup of tea, and blindly grabbed the closest food item with his other hand—which happened to be an orange scone. “It’s inhumane, making us get up this early when the game isn’t until the evening.”

“I think that’s more of a Department of Magical Games and Sports flaw than a quidditch flaw,” Hydrus quipped.

Dade shot him a halfhearted glare. “Don’t you dare say things that make sense this early in the morning.”

The twins’ parents and Uncle Rabastan all joined them at the table shortly thereafter, each in a mostly accurate but ever so slightly _off_ muggle outfit. The World Cup was being held at a pitch near a muggle campground, so, for the sake of safety and the Statute of Secrecy, everyone had been asked to arrive looking as muggle as possible. Hydrus thought his family did a fairly good job of it for three purebloods and a half-blood who hadn’t lived in the muggle world since the 1940’s.

“Do we look inconspicuous?” Dad asked, gesturing to his charcoal slacks and button-down shirt. They fit him correctly and did indeed look muggle, but he’d pass better as a businessman than a camper.

“You look fine,” Hermione politely told them.

That seemed to be good enough for the adults.

A little while and a lot of breakfast later, Mum declared that it was nearly time to catch their portkey, and that everyone ought to double check that they were ready to go. Father grumbled about that—as he hated portkey travel just as much as Hydrus did—but begrudgingly accepted the necessity of it. Not only had none of them ever been to the World Cup’s location before, but the Department of Magical Games and Sports needed to keep the arrival times under control so as not to draw the suspicions of any nearby muggles.

“It’s just a shame we got an absurdly early time slot for our portkey,” said Uncle Rabastan with a frown. “I doubt we’d be as bothered if we’d gotten the nine o’clock slot.”

Dad, who was just as much of a night owl as Hermione and had even worse dark circles than her, simply muttered: “What’s the point of using our wrongfully imprisoned status if the Ministry won’t even let us sleep until a more proper hour?”

“How do you think I feel?” Father asked in an equally petulant voice. “I’m the bloody Dark Lord, and even that didn’t get us a better time.”

The only benefit of the Ministry’s current attempts at appeasing their family was that the portkey had been sent directly to them, and they didn’t have to go to a secondary location to meet with others. Hydrus had heard that the Weasleys would all be catching their portkey at a meeting point in the nearby village of Ottery St. Catchpole, and he didn’t envy them that one bit. Having to trudge on to someplace outside the predawn darkness sounded like a nightmare. It was bad enough they’d have to do it once they arrived at the campgrounds.

There was, however, one major downside to the private portkey: Sirius and Remus would be joining them. Sirius didn’t become his usual excitable self until noon at the earliest, but Remus was perhaps the most chipper morning person Hydrus had ever met—a trait most would never think to associate with a werewolf. Even after the full moon, he managed to be up and functioning hours before Sirius.

“Good morning, everyone!” Remus greeted them cheerfully, entering the kitchen with a half-asleep Sirius leaning on him for support. “I must say it’s a relief you weren’t all waiting impatiently for us in the sitting room. Getting Padfoot out of bed was a hell of a challenge, and I was certain we’d be late.”

“Tone it down about a dozen notches, Moony,” Sirius tiredly mumbled. Like everyone in the Gaunt-Lestrange residence besides Mum, he was unhappily up and ready to go, barely able to keep his eyes open even as he gazed longingly at the now packed up coffee and tea. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Sirius,” Uncle Rabastan stated. “At least let us get caffeinated before you go about acting all happy like that, Remus.” With that, he raised his charmed thermos in a mock toast and chugged the coffee within.

After a bit more banter and a few more last-minute preparations, the family gathered close together around the portkey—an old, frayed jump-rope that had seen better days.

“Alright, everyone,” said Dad, gesturing to the portkey. “Remember: you don’t need a death grip on the thing. Simply touching it will do.”

“And the landing will be rough either way,” Sirius added.

Remus frowned but agreed, “Ah, yes. It does tend to be that way with group portkeys.”

Everyone put a hand on the portkey, and, with a tugging sensation in their navels, were transported to their destination. Hydrus crashed into the damp, dewy ground of the campsite, Hermione’s arm connecting with his sternum and knocking the wind out of him in the process. It may have been a terrible landing, but at least he was fully awake now—if a bit short of breath.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry about that,” Hermione apologized, wearing a guilty expression. “I must’ve lost my balance somewhere along the way.”

“It’s fine,” Hydrus assured her despite the slight ache in his chest.

“Right on time, Gaunt, Lestrange, and Black families!” greeted a merry little wizard in a wildly outdated muggle suit, paying no mind to the fact that they were all still getting up off the ground and dusting themselves off. “You’ll be at Campsite Four. It’s just beyond the small stone cottage to your right. A manager will be stationed just outside, but please be mindful that he’s a muggle and won’t be able to help you set up. And please try not to talk about quidditch in front of him since he won’t rightly know what you’re talking about.”

Hydrus nodded, and noticed the rest of his family was doing the same. The request not to leak any wizarding information to the camp manager seemed reasonable enough. And since half their group had plenty of experience interacting with muggles, they’d have no problems blending in.

_They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Hydrus could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon._

_A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Hydrus knew at a glance that this was the only real muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them._

“Good morning,” Remus said with a grin. “Would you happen to be the campsite manager?”

“Indeed I am,” replied the muggle man. “The name’s Ian Roberts. If you need anything during your stay, feel free to ask around for me.”

Father gave the man a nod. “Thank you, Ian. We appreciate the offer.”

“Of course! Now, are you lot here for that stargazing convention?” Mr. Roberts asked them. “We’ve never had so many guests at the site at the same time before, but from what I hear, it’s because of some once in a lifetime event to do with the stars.”

_Stargazing convention?_ Hermione asked incredulously through the twin bond.

Hydrus mentally shrugged. _It’s as good an excuse as any, I suppose._

While the adults sorted out the details of where they were meant to pitch their tents, Hydrus noticed a bright flash of light burst into the air from the middle of the campsite. It was followed by several more flashes and scattered cheering. One flash even took on the form of a golden snitch, and, much to Hydrus’ relief, confirmed that whatever was going on was completely harmless.

“Ah, they must be setting off flares again,” said Mr. Roberts, shaking his head. “I’m surprised they’ve started at it again so early in the morning, but there’s not too much I can do about unless someone files a complaint. I hope you lot don’t mind it too terribly. They’re a weird lot, some of those stargazer convention-goers. No offense.”

Hydrus and his family all knew that flares were most certainly not responsible for the flashes of light, but kept their mouths shut about the true source. Instead, the adults simply told their camp manager that they didn’t mind the flares and weren’t offended at all by him calling the others weird, and, after a bit more talking, started ushering the teens to their designated campsite so as not arouse any more suspicion within the camp manager.

“Do you think it’s smart to let muggles manage the campsites for this?” Hydrus half-whispered to his father once they were out of earshot of any muggles.

Father shook his head, a slight frown on his lips. “No, not at all. The number of memory charms they must be getting put under just to maintain the Statute…”

Hydrus grimaced. He hadn’t even thought of that. And after his experiences with Lockhart and the Longbottoms, he couldn’t think of a crueler thing to do to a person. How on earth could the Ministry go through with a plan like this?

Noticing Hydrus’ displeasure, his father assured him, “I’ll have one of my men work on drafting legislation to see if we can keep something like this from happening again.”

It wouldn’t fix whatever might happen to their camp manager, who seemed like a very nice person, but it would have to do.

_They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Hydrus could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain._

“Lucius never did appreciate the meaning of the word ‘understated’,” Dad muttered as they passed the peacocks.

Sirius shook his head at the sight. “How could he possibly think those overgrown chickens of his were appropriate for muggle camping?”

“Is it really that strange?” Mum asked. “It’s not like they’re magical animals or anything.”

“Maybe so, but most muggles don’t keep peacocks as pets,” Hermione told her. Shuddering at a memory from one their many visits to Malfoy Manor, she added: “And they certainly don’t use them as trained guard animals either.”

Mum just shrugged. “Perhaps they should. After all, they do a great job of it.”

No one among them could disagree. Uncle Lucius’ peacocks were a terrifying sight when in action.

“Oh, look! This is us!” Sirius exclaimed, stopping and pointing to the empty patch of land in front of them. One spot had a sign reading LESTRANGE and the other, slightly smaller site, said BLACK.

_"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Remus happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult… Muggles do it all the time… Here, Hydrus, where do you reckon we should start?"_

_Hydrus had never been camping in his life; the Dursleys had never taken him on any kind of holiday, preferring to leave him with Mrs. Figg, an old neighbor. However, he and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though their parents were more of a hindrance than a help, because they got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair_ of modest, rather old-fashioned canvas tents.

As they all took a step back to make sure everything was set up correctly and nothing misaligned, Father stated, “I don’t think we’ll have any problems with these tents looking anything other than muggle.”

Hydrus nodded in agreement. They’d done a good job of being inconspicuous. It helped, of course, that so many of them had regularly interacted with muggles at some point in their lives. Blending in was far easier when one had experience doing it.

Luckily, the only muggle aspect of the tents were their outer appearance. The insides had expansion charms that allowed for each tent to contain several bedrooms, a sitting room, a small kitchen, and two fully functioning bathrooms with showers—the last of which had been very important to Hermione, who had camped the muggle way before and hated how dirty it had left her. Dade had also gone camping before, and though he appreciated having a bathroom in the tent, cared far more about having a kitchen so that he didn’t have to worry about accidentally burning all his food on an open fire.

“I always misjudge how long I need to cook the hotdogs for,” Dade had explained. “They turn out all black and shriveled up every time I try.”

Hermione had expressed a similar problem when it came to attempting to roast marshmallows, which had led to both her and Dade have to explain the tradition of making smores while camping to all the adults who had overheard their conversation. Sirius had been keenly interested in the idea. All the teens suspected that at least one of his travel bags had been packed with nothing but marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars.

“Alright, kids, why don’t you go in and put your things down?” Mum suggested. “We’ve still got plenty of time before we meet up with the others, so you should all have time to rest if you need it.”

Hydrus and Dade threw their bags down in their rooms and made their way to the sitting room for more tea and snacks, but Hermione never returned from hers. Hydrus had a feeling that, were someone to check on his sister, they’d find her face down on her bed and on top of the covers, already fast asleep. And, based on his dad’s sudden absence from their numbers, he had likely done the same thing.

Mum, Father, and Uncle Rabastan, however, joined the boys in the sitting room. Uncle Rabastan was still chugging coffee from his thermos, and Mum was trying to convince him that it would be better to go take a nap. Father, meanwhile, had a borrowed quidditch magazine open in front of him so that he would have at least some semblance of a clue as to what was going on when he watched the game. He wasn’t much interested in sports, but he knew the others did, so was trying his best not to spoil their fun by not knowing what they were talking about.

“It seems this Viktor Krum character is a pretty big deal,” Father hesitantly said to Hydrus and Dade, as if he wasn’t entirely sure if it was true.

Dade snorted in amusement. “Yeah, you could say that. He’s only being labeled as the best seeker of the twentieth century.”

“Perhaps in all of quidditch history,” Hydrus added, remembering what Ron had said about his record during Neville’s birthday party.

Father glanced back down at his magazine, frowning slightly. “I see,” was all he said.

“You do know you don’t have to be knowledgeable about quidditch to have a good time, right?” Dade asked his uncle. “It’s not like anyone’s expecting Hermione to suddenly care about all that just because she’s here.”

Father acted as though that wasn’t what was going through his head, but neither Hydrus nor Dade truly believed him. For being a Slytherin (in both House and legacy), he was being quite transparent about it.

Hydrus and Dade eventually got a bit bored of staying in the tent, and set off to explore the campgrounds. _Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on Hydrus how many witches and wizards there must be in the world._ The global population wasn’t something talked about much within their insular community, and, considering their own relatively small size, he hadn’t considered how much more robust wizarding communities in other countries might be.

_Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent._

_"How many times, Kevin? You don't — touch — Daddy's — wand — yecchh!"_

_She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells "You bust slug! You bust slug!"_

Dade nudged Hydrus in the side and cocked his head in the direction of the little boy called Kevin. “Can you imagine the reaction my mum would’ve had if we’d done something like that?”

Hydrus laughed. He could picture it all too well: the pinched expression, the way Aunt Petunia’s neck would stretch out even longer and tighter than it already was, the shrieks of disgust and calling it all _abnormal_ as if that were the dirtiest word in the world. The whole scene would’ve been downright ridiculous, especially now that he knew she no longer posed a threat to him.

“I doubt she’d have been able to off the slug with such efficiency,” Hydrus finally said, voice still laced with amusement.

Dade chuckled at that. “No, she’d have run away and made my dad deal with it.”

“Oi! You lot! Over here!”

Hydrus whipped around to see a gigantic gathering of Weasleys huddled around a blazing campfire, attempting to cook eggs and potatoes without getting burned. Fred and George seemed to be making a game of getting too close to the flames and then quickly pulling away, while one of the older boys—either Bill or Charlie, Hydrus wasn’t sure—was watching on in exasperated bemusement.

Ron and Ginny were the first to break away from the group, running over towards Hydrus and Dade. Ginny engaged Dade in a rapid-fire, one-sided conversation about Ireland’s team, spouting off facts too quickly for Dade to respond, before dragging him over to join her family for breakfast. Ron, meanwhile, had begun to regale Hydrus with the saga that was the Weasley family’s attempts to blend in with the muggle campers.

“And then Dad asked the camp manager why it was so strange for Ludo Bagman to be wearing a kilt and a poncho together,” Ron said with a snort. “Honestly, even _I_ know that’s not how muggles dress, and my only frame of reference is Justin Finch-Fletchley and Fey Dunbar’s wardrobes.”

“Shouldn’t Ludo Bagman know better, too?” Hydrus asked incredulously. “I mean, if he’s going around coordinating sporting events in muggle areas, he should’ve picked up a few things by now.”

“He’s probably just a bit of a weirdo to be honest,” Ron admitted. “Too many bludgers to the head bag in the day, I’d reckon.”

“Oi, Ron! Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” called out one of the older Weasley boys. He wore his long red hair in a ponytail and had a large fang dangling from an earring, which, as far as Hydrus could guess, meant he must be the coolest member of the Weasley family.

It turned out that Hydrus was right. Bill Weasley was incredibly cool, and not just because he had a ponytail and a fang earring. He was also a curse breaker for Gringotts and spent the majority of his time in Egypt, cleansing ancient tombs and the artefacts within from the dangerous magic placed on them.

Contrary to popular belief, cure breakers didn’t raid tombs and steal all their valuables. Instead, they researched ancient (and often lost) places of historical importance, made them safe to explore, and created copies of the valuable items and knowledge within. While Bill was mostly involved in the actual curse breaking aspect of the job, he also talked at length about the historians and researchers he worked with. According to him, they were the ones that had the hardest job of anyone on his team.

Charlie was a close second when it came to the title of coolest Weasley brother. He worked on a dragon preserve in Romania, and although his work was somewhat less interesting to Hydrus, he was still impressed by anyone who felt as comfortable with XXXXX Dangerous Beasts as Charlie did.

Dade, of course, had quickly become Charlie’s shadow for the day, following him around and asking countless questions about the different dragons he worked with. Charlie was all too happy to provide answers, though he seemed rather amused by Dade’s enthusiasm. The two were quite similar in their love of magical creatures, and Hydrus suspected they’d continue on corresponding long after the World Cup came to a close.

“Good morning, Weasleys!”

Hydrus turned to see that Sirius and Remus had stumbled across the Weasley tent as well. A muggle cooler sat by Remus’ feet, and a number of long, metal sticks were in Sirius’ hands. They looked thoroughly prepared for a good, old-fashioned muggle cook-out.

“Is this by any chance the designated party zone?” Sirius asked Mr. Weasley, a grin spreading across his lips.

Mr. Weasley rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, well… I’m not sure if I’d say it’s been designated as anything, but you’re more than welcome to join us if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Remus replied, “and sorry about this one’s terrible manners. He’s spent the last half hour hoping to try his hand at muggle tailgating, but no one at our camp was feeling quite up to yet.”

“And just what is tailgating?” Mr. Weasley asked, giving an interested look at the cooler.

“It’s like an outdoor party for sporting events,” Sirius explained. “Muggles usually have them outside their football stadiums, but I think this is close enough.”

Mr. Weasley grinned, and Hydrus was reminded of just how fascinated by everything muggle the older man was. “Well, in that case, let’s get this _tailgating_ party started!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kevin and his salami slug were incredibly important to me


	5. Ireland vs. Bulgaria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the quidditch world cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. italics are stolen from jk rowling's undeserving hands

By the time mid-afternoon arrived and the sun shone brightly in the sky, the Weasley campsite had become the unofficial meeting place. The entire Black, Lestrange, Gaunt, and Malfoy families had gathered around the fire pit in front of Mr. Weasley’s two tents—bringing with them all manner of food and beverages. Sirius had even doubled back to his tent to fetch his bag of smores supplies so that everyone could try at least one of the delicious muggle creations.

“Fascinating, the things muggles come up with,” Mr. Weasley had decided, his voice full of wonder as he tasted the first bite of his smore.

Uncle Lucius, on the other hand, had looked absolutely scandalized by the idea of eating so messy. It wasn’t until Ursa insisted that he _had to_ that he took his first begrudging bite. Even though it was clear in his eyes that he thought it was good, he’d cast a hasty _Scourgify_ to get the excess marshmallow off his hands as soon as he’d finished eating.

About halfway through their smores, Sirius got an odd sort of guarded look in his eyes, and Father looked as though he’d groan if doing such a thing in public weren’t beneath him. “Ugh, it’s Ludo Bagman,” Sirius said with a slight sneer. “Is it too late to hide?”

Mr. Weasley cocked his head to the side, confused. “Surely he can’t be that bad?”

“He’s fine from a distance,” Dad explained, “but he’s been using the tickets he gave our family as good P.R. for the Ministry—trying to make it look like they’re all being so generous towards us after stealing a decade of our lives.”

“Ah, I see,” Mr. Weasley said awkwardly.

“Well if it isn’t the Blacks and Lestranges!” called out a booming voice. “And the Weasleys and Malfoys, too! This must be the party tent!”

_Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person Hydrus had seen so far. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed (probably broken by a stray Bludger, Hydrus thought), but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy._

_"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement._

Hermione turned to her brother, an incredulous eyebrow arched high. “What on earth is he doing, going about dressed like that?” she whispered. “Does he not realize that muggles have eyes?”

“I heard he was dressed in a poncho and kilt earlier, so his current get-up seems like an improvement,” Hydrus replied.

Hermione pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything more on the subject.

“Hello, Ludo,” Father said in a tight voice. “What a… surprise, seeing you out and about so close to the start of the match. One might think you’d have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Bagman just clapped Father on the shoulder as if they were longtime friends, earning him a murderous glare from Father. “Come now, Lord Slytherin,” he replied amiably. “I’m sure you understand the need to have a bit of fun on occasion. In fact, I’ve got a bit of fun you lot might like to get in on.”

All of the adults except for Uncle Rabastan and Mr. Weasley donned pinched expressions. Even Sirius looked as though he disapproved of whatever it was Ludo Bagman considered fun—a rare feat for someone so utterly obsessed with having a good time.

“I think we’d all rather pass,” Uncle Lucius told him pointedly. “Most of us rather lack the same, ah, zeal as you when it comes to gambling.”

_"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first—I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years - and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong match."_

Mr. Weasley didn’t look fully convinced, frowning a bit, but Ludo Bagman pressed on. “Come on, Arthur. I’ve heard you’re making a killing over at that new company… Fletchley Tech, was it? What’s the harm in playing a little fast and loose with a few galleons?”

It was true that Fletchley Tech was paying Mr. Weasley incredibly well, and for good reason. In the few short months since Justin Finch-Fletchley’s father worked out an arrangement to expand his company into the wizarding world—with ample help from Uncle Lucius and Mr. Weasley—Fletchley Tech had become the hottest novelty store around. Their biggest seller were portable Wizarding Wireless Network devices, called porta-wireless or PWWNs by those who had them, which were based on the muggle walkman and even had a space for miniature vinyl discs so that people could listen to their favorite bands on the go.

But the porta-wireless was far from the most revolutionary device put out by Fletchley Tech. While they hadn’t yet figured out how to duplicate live television, they _had_ managed to create recording devices similar to video cameras and tapes. Part of the reason why the Weasley clan had box seats for the Quidditch World Cup was because Fletchley Tech would be filming the game—the first ever visually recorded wizarding sports event. Thousands of copies had already been pre-ordered by quidditch fanatics and muggle tech enthusiasts alike.

_"Oh...go on then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see...a Galleon on Ireland to win?"_

_"A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well...any other takers?_ What about you, Sirius? If I remember correctly, you had a good eye for quidditch talent back in the day. I’m sure you could make out like a bandit if you placed your bets carefully.”

Sirius cast him a skeptical glance. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Any other takers?” Bagman asked around, paying far more attention to the underage teens than the adults.

Fred and George kept looking at one another excitedly in what Hydrus could tell was a rigorous debate through their twin bond. But when Fred turned to Hermione and George turned to Remus, both twins were met with subtle shakes of the head.

When Bagman realized he wouldn’t be getting anyone else to join in on the betting, he let out a long sigh. “Well, there’s always next time. Have fun and enjoy the game!”

“You might as well kiss that galleon goodbye forever, Arthur,” Uncle Lucius said as soon as Bagman was out of earshot. “It’s an open secret that Bagman’s up to his eyeballs in gambling debts with the goblins. No doubt he’ll try to swindle you out of any money he can—even if your bet played out in your favor.”

Mr. Weasley shrugged. He didn’t seem all that bothered by it. “I’d heard rumors of the like around the Ministry, but I’ve decided to be cautiously optimistic,” he admitted. “If it turns out he’s trying to cheat me, well, at least I’ll only end up losing a galleon.”

Uncle Lucius frowned, but didn’t say anything more. It wasn’t as though he could convince Mr. Weasley to change his mind and go fetch his galleon back.

George waited until his father was no longer paying attention before saying: “Thanks for the head’s up, Moony! Did you know about Bagman’s gambling issues, too?”

It was then that Hydrus understood why the Weasley twins had looked to Remus and Hermione earlier when Bagman was talking. They’d been thinking of placing a bet and wanted some kind of signal as to whether or not doing so was a good idea. No doubt their initial caution came from the rest of the adults refusing and had hesitated as a result, or else they might have done something monumentally stupid with their galleons.

“Indeed I did,” Remus told him with a slight frown. “I’m glad you boys decided against wasting your hard-earned money betting with him. If you ask me: it’s only a matter of time before he faces goblin justice for what he’s been doing.”

Hydrus, Hermione, and the twins nodded sagely. They all knew how strict the goblins were, especially when it came to things like fraud and unpaid debts.

“But, Hermione, how did you know about Bagman’s dishonest dealings?” Fred asked.

“I didn’t,” Hermione admitted, cheeks flushing a bit. “It’s just that it’s illegal for anyone underage to gamble, and I figured any adult looking that interested in making a bet with teenagers probably isn’t the most trustworthy person. It’s almost like he was _hoping_ to take advantage.”

Fred put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders and grinned. “Never change, Hermione. Never change.”

Thoroughly put off the idea of gambling, Hydrus—along with both his family and the Weasleys—decided to find another use for their galleons: buying merchandise. Rows and rows of booths had been set up along the stadium entrance, their flashy wares catching the attention of all who passed. There were jerseys and flags and posters and pins for both the Irish and Bulgarian teams, as well as general quidditch supplies like practice snitches and novelty keeper helmets. There was even a booth with enchanted miniature brooms that flew around in small circles, their tiny plasticine players waving as they as they spun around.

“Look! Look!”

Ron was waving and pointing to a booth dedicated entirely to Viktor Krum merchandise. Every spare inch of space had something displaying Krum’s face or jersey or name. Hydrus had never seen so many scowls put together in one spot, not even in Professor Prince’s Potions classes.

“He doesn’t seem like a very pleasant fellow,” Hermione said as she followed Ron over the booth, frowning at the moving pictures of Krum’s disgruntled expression.

Hydrus cast a glance towards Draco, and, somewhat reluctantly, the two of them followed after Ron and Hermione—neither of boy wanting to risk getting separated from them.

Ron waved Hermione off. “Who cares about pleasant? He’s going to be the best seeker in all of quidditch history! Mark my words!”

Hydrus was certain that his sister would do no such thing.

“Anyway,” Hermione continued, ignoring Ron’s declaration, “I thought you were rooting for Ireland. Why get Krum merch when he’s on the opposing team? Isn’t that a bit disloyal?”

“True skill knows no team loyalties.”

Ron ended up purchasing an enchanted Viktor Krum action figure that acted out a Wronski Feint on loop, the snitch materializing in his hand at the very end of each go before repeating the play once more. And, as Hermione was quick to point out, the miniature Krum had a frown on his face the whole time. That didn’t bother Ron at all, though. He insisted instead that it just showed how focused Krum was on the maneuver.

“Come on, Draco, you’re a seeker,” Ron pointed out. “Don’t you think it proves his dedication?”

Draco blinked a few times before replying, “Uh, sure. I guess I wouldn’t look too happy either if I were doing a Wronski Feint.”

Hydrus arched an eyebrow but said nothing. Ever since Ron’s diatribe about Viktor Krum’s greatness during Neville’s birthday party, Draco’s opinion on the Bulgarian seeker had soured a bit. He hadn’t started trash-talking Krum or anything, but his nose scrunched up in distaste whenever someone mentioned him. Hydrus couldn’t figure out why. His cousin had been an avid Viktor Krum fan until then. The sudden change was utterly perplexing. 

“See, Hermione!” Ron crowed. “Even Draco agrees, and you know he never agrees with me on anything.”

Hermione’s only response was to roll her eyes and mutter something about boys being stupid.

It took a few minutes of wandering around in search of the rest of their families after that, but finally the four teens spotted a gaggle of redheads that could be no one but the Weasley clan. As they got closer, the saw the telltale pale blonde hair of the Malfoy family, as well as Hydrus and Hermione’s family. They caught up with them easily enough, although Ron did nearly stumble into Seamus Finnigan—who had painted his entire body shamrock green and was cheering loudly in Irish with a group others who were just as decked out in the Ireland team’s colors as him.

_And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field._

_"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"_

Hydrus, his family, and the Weasleys all made their way through the throng of cheering and singing fans until they were through the front gates guarding the stadium. Looking around, Hydrus suddenly understood why there was so much congestion at the gates. He’d never seen such a massive stadium before. It looked as though it could fit all of England—probably Wales and Scotland, too.

_"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Hydrus’ face. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again… bless them," he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards._

Hydrus frowned slightly at the way in which the muggle repelling charms worked, wondering why a simple _Confundus_ wouldn’t be enough. Then again, wizards weren’t the most logical of creatures, and had likely made things more convoluted than necessary for the sake of wanting to sound clever.

Father was of the same mind. “That sounds like quite a bit of unnecessarily complicated spellwork just to keep away a few muggles,” he told Mr. Weasley. “Most places with anti-muggle charms simply make the muggles decide they’re no longer interested in whatever it is they’ve nearly come across. Hogwarts, for example, appears as an unsafe and uninteresting pile of ruins.”

Mr. Weasley considered that, his brows furrowing, but ultimately had no response.

Hardly a moment later, they were met by two Ministry wizards—one to usher the Weasleys to their seats and another to guide Hydrus and his family to theirs. Both families had top box seats, but, unfortunately for all the teens, they’d be too far from one another to watch the game together. 

“Come on, follow me!” instructed the Ministry wizard, gesturing for them to join him in his ascent up the high, high staircase to the top of the stadium.

_The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Their party kept climbing, and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Hydrus, filing into the front seats with the rest of his family, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined._

_A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Hydrus’ eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Harry saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field._

“It’s all rather over-the-top, isn’t it?” Hermione said, gesturing to the decor. “Not really what you’d expect for a sporting event.”

Hydrus shrugged. He had no frame of reference for how sporting events were meant to look like outside of his attending the Hogwarts quidditch games. The stadium there was plain and wooden with a few house-themed decorations, but it was otherwise nothing special. Then again, school sports were hardly as glamorous as the pro league.

“Yeah, it’s a bit much—at least if you compare it to muggle football games,” Dade agreed.

“I think it’s perfect,” Draco declared imperiously. “I don’t know how any of you could expect anything less for the World Cup. It’s only the biggest event of the year.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Uncle Lucius agreed.

Sirius snorted. “Says the guy who brought peacocks to a muggle campground.”

“And what’s wrong with peacocks, Sirius?”

“Other than the fact that they’re the most pompous of all birds?” Sirius jibed.

“Come now, Sirius,” Remus said with a slight smirk, wrapping his arm around his husband’s shoulders. “You should know by now that Lucius is incapable of doing anything without being entirely too ostentatious in the process.”

Uncle Lucius shook his head. “Just because the two of you know nothing about class—”

“Class?” Mum repeated, chuckling. “There’s nothing classy about those prissy little hellions you call birds.”

Uncle Lucius looked as though he’d prefer to keep arguing, but Aunt Narcissa put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and, with just a single pointed look, convinced him to drop the issue.

The teens and Ursa, meanwhile, could not have possibly cared less about the adults’ argument over peacocks. Uncle Lucius had gotten them all Omnioculars so that they could zoom in on the field and replay maneuvers at will. Ursa had taken to people watching, while the boys were using theirs to exchange funny faces and act out charades with the youngest two Weasley children on the opposite side of the stadium. Draco had captured and replayed Ron flipping him the bird about half a dozen times, laughing each time he did. Dade, on the other hand, seemed to be doing the YMCA dance in coordination with Ginny, though Hydrus had no idea why they would do such a thing or if Ginny even knew what the YMCA was. Regardless, they were clearly having a good time.

Hermione was the only one who didn’t join in on their antics. Instead, she’d plopped down in her seat and began reading over one of the pamphlets containing the program and team rosters. 

“Huh,” she said softly. “It says they’ll be showcasing creatures from both countries as part of some pre-game entertainment.”

Dade whipped, his eyes wide as dinner plates. “Really?” he asked excitedly. “Does it say which kinds?”

Hermione shook her head. “Unfortunately not.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see,” Dade muttered to himself. A bit louder, he told the others: “My best guess for Bulgaria would be the Zlatorog—a sort of antelope with horns of solid gold. They’re originally native to Slovenia, but pretty much all of Eastern Europe has them now. Smart enough to be trained, I’d bet. It might be interesting to see what they do.”

“Oh, that sounds so pretty!” Ursa squealed in delight. “Any guesses for Ireland?”

Dade pondered that for a moment, chewing on his lower lip, before deciding: “A few cait-shìth, most like. They’re the only Irish creatures I can think of that aren’t actively interested in killing people.”

Ursa scrunched her nose, looking far less thrilled with that possibility. Before she could say anything, though, a _Sonorus_ echoed through the stadium, and all attention turned to Ludo Bagman—who was sitting in the Minister’s box using his wand as a microphone.

_"Ladies and gentlemen...welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"_

_The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message (Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans - A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0._

_"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"_

Dade was wrong. They weren’t goldhorns. Instead, a swarm of pale, ethereally beautiful women came onto the pitch and began to dance. Hydrus didn’t quite understand it. They were the most lovely women he’d ever seen—far, far more beautiful than the scantily clad cheerleaders on the sidelines of American sporting events—but he couldn’t figure out how that made them creatures. It seemed a bit rude, honestly, to categorize these women in such a way.

“I’m surprised they went with veelas,” Draco said to no one in particular, pursing his lips in distaste.

Veelas? Hydrus knew quite a bit about them because the Malfoy line had a good bit of veela blood in it, enough that Uncle Lucius worried Ursa might inherit some of their more obvious traits once she got a bit older. He knew that they could grow wings and beaks and had an irresistible allure that enthralled young men. Yet he couldn’t see how their creature status made them eligible to be mascots. They were far too intelligent, far too human, to be put on display for everyone’s entertainment like this.

“Seems rather exploitative, doesn’t it?” Hermione stated. “I mean, imagine if the English team made werewolves their mascots and had Remus parade about down there. It’s just not right.”

“ _I_ certainly wouldn’t want to be a part of that,” Ursa declared, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Uncle Lucius looked downright murderous. “If my mother were alive to see this…” he muttered angrily to himself.

“She’d probably tear the Bulgarian Minister’s eyes out with her bare hands over this,” Aunt Narcissa agreed, patting Uncle Lucius on the arm.

By the time the music stopped and the veelas left the pitch, the entire Malfoy family was agitated. Hydrus couldn’t blame them one bit. If someone had treated his ancestors like mere entertainment, he’d be in a terrible mood as well.

The rest of the crowd’s bad mood started when the Malfoys’ ended: the moment the veelas had gone back to wherever they’d been before. Thousands upon thousands of disgruntled men were booing the loss of the beautiful young women—having been sucked in by the allure at some point during the dance.

“Pathetic,” Draco sneered at them all.

_"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air...for the Irish National Team Mascots!"_

_Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it—_

“They’re trick galleons,” Sirius informed the children, all four of whom had reached out to get a better look at what was being thrown at them. “Designed to disappear in an hour or two. You can tell the difference by the lack of a mint seal on the back. Don’t let anyone rip you off with these bad boys.”

“Trick galleons?” Draco repeated. “But that could only mean—”

“Leprechauns!” Dade finished for him.

Just as Dade announced their presence, the leprechauns filed out onto the field and performed a traditional Irish dance. It wasn’t nearly as enticing as what the veelas had done, but it was a bit more in line with the sort of thing Hydrus expected when he heard the word mascot. Leprechauns might be tricky little things, but their diminutive stature and lack of humanlike intelligence made them a far more acceptable national symbol than the veelas.

Once the leprechauns were done dancing, Ludo Bagman cast another _Sonorus_ over the crowd.

_"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome — the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!"_

_A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters._

_"Ivanova!"_

_A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out._

_"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand — Krum!"_

Bagman then went on to introduce the Irish team, who, due to a slight home-crowd advantage and their better odds at winning, received far louder applause than the Bugarians had—the only exception, of course, having been Krum. Lynch, the seeker for Ireland, looked a bit put out by that. He wasn’t at the top of the league like his Bulgarian counterpart, but he was still fairly high up in the rankings. Hydrus supposed he must’ve thought he’d be cheered on just as vigorously as Krum had.

The game started off with a bang. Moran, one of the Irish beaters, had swooped in to rocket a bludger all the way off to the other side of the pitch so that Ryan and Troy had a clear path to score. And score they did. It had all happened so fast that Hydrus needed to rewind the play with his Omnioculars several times just to properly take in what had occurred.

Hydrus had never before seen quidditch played like this. As exciting as the games at Hogwarts were, they couldn’t compare to the exhilarating, fast-paced race towards winning that was unfolding in front of him now. He could hardly keep up, and he was only watching from the sidelines.

Both teams gave it their all, but, after a half hour or so, it became clear that Bulgaria was outmatched. Krum would need to catch the snitch, and soon, if they were to have a shot at winning. Their chasers just couldn’t keep up with the flurry of goals scored by Ireland. For every quaffle they managed to get past the Irish keeper, Ireland’s chasers tripled.

“I just hope it doesn’t end up being a total blow-out,” Draco said when the scoreboards declared 70-10 in Ireland’s favor. “Won’t be all that fun to watch if Ireland ends up with a five hundred point lead or something ridiculous like that.”

“I don’t know,” Hydrus disagreed, a slight smirk spreading across his lips. “If it comes to that, you could always zoom in on the Bulgarian players’ faces and see how ticked off they are.”

Hermione cocked her head to the side in feigned confusion. “How would you be able to tell the difference between that and their usual faces?”

“She’s got a point,” Draco agreed.

“Yeah,” interjected Dade. “Krum especially. He always looks like someone’s just pissed in his tea.”

They all laughed at that—even Ursa—causing Draco to cover his little sister’s ears with his hands in a mock attempt to protect her from Dade’s foul language. Luckily, none of the adults noticed or overheard, or else they likely would’ve gotten an earful from Uncle Lucius.

“Oi!” Dade shouted, pointing wildly at the pitch. “Do you see that?”

Everyone gasped as Krum, followed closely by Lynch, dove hard and fast towards the ground in the middle of the pitch, interrupting the Irish chasers and causing them to fumble the quaffle. No one had seen the snitch all game, and if Krum managed to catch it right now, Bulgaria would be able to just barely win.

_"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione next to Hydrus._

_She was half right—at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats._

“What an idiot!” Draco complained loudly. “The snitch wasn’t even there!”

Hydrus pressed his Omnioculars to his face and saw that his cousin was right. The snitch was nowhere to be seen. Krum had pulled off his signature move—the Wronski feint—just to mess with Lynch and the Irish chasers, and all of them had fallen for it.

Bagman called for a timeout so that a pair of medi-wizards could make sure Lynch hadn’t broken anything important when he face-planted into the dirt. They cast a few diagnostic spells, checked his eyes, and, after aiming a healing spell at the seeker’s nose, gave the thumb’s up to resume the game.

“Lynch better not fall for that again,” said Dade, shaking his head in disappointment. “I don’t think his nose will like being broken a second time tonight.”

“To be fair, we all fell for it as well,” Hermione pointed out.

Dade shrugged. “Maybe so, but none of us are professional seekers.”

The Bulgarian team got thoroughly thrashed after that. Seeing their seeker injured had sent the Irish chasers on a mission to bury any and all hope the Bulgarians had of winning. Goal after goal after goal went hurtling past their seeker, until the Irish had a lead so high that their opponents could never hope to catch up. And from the grumbling, annoyed looks on the Bulgarian players’ faces, they all knew they’d have no chance of winning now.

And then, suddenly, Lynch dove. Less than a hundred feet away, Hydrus saw it: the jerky flittering of the golden snitch. Lynch had the advantage of seeing it first, but Krum was soon hot on his trail. The two were neck-and-neck, bumping into each other several times, as they raced to catch the snitch. Just as Lynch made a grab for it—

“KRUM CATCHES THE SNITCH!” Ludo Bagman shouted. “IRELAND WINS 170-160, BUT BULGARIA DIDN’T GO DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT!”

All one-hundred thousand witches and wizards clapped and cheered and sang, even the Bulgaria fans, who were at least mildly appeased by the knowledge that they had the better seeker. It was a close game, despite, the initial blowout, and had been thrilling until the very end.

“What a game!” Dade exclaimed.

“Incredible!” Draco agreed.

“Yeah, it was neat!” Ursa added despite not caring all that much for quidditch. “Can we have more smores now that the game’s over?”

“You can have all the smores you want!” Sirius assured her, earning twin glares from Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa.

As he and his family filed out of the packed stadium—the adults bickering over how many more smores to let the kids have before bed—Hydrus couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing the game had been. No wonder quidditch was the most popular sport in the wizarding world. It was the most thrilling thing he’d ever seen in his whole life. Maybe, just maybe, he’d have to get more into the sport so he could know when other professional games were being hosted near him. There was no way he could live his life without going to another match.


	6. Gindelwald's Sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grindelwald's supporters get rowdy after the world cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. happy new year!!!

Between waking up before dawn and the excitement of the Quidditch World Cup, Hydrus wasn’t at all surprised to find himself nodding off by the campfire barely an hour after he and his family returned to the campsite. Not even the high sugar content of the smores was enough to keep him awake. And so, just a short while later, he excused himself so that he could go and get some sleep.

Most of the others followed suit shortly after, no longer able to force their eyes to stay open despite the fun they were still having. Only a few of the night owls, like Dad and Uncle Rabastan, remained awake—though they were considerate enough to quiet down so as not to wake the others. Ursa had tried to stay up with them, insisting she wasn’t tired, but ended up falling asleep in a chair and had to be carried back to the Malfoy tent by a yawning Uncle Lucius. Draco and Aunt Narcissa had already returned to their tent by then, both having decided that sleep was more important than extended socialization.

Hydrus was partway through an incredible dream where he was the seeker challenging Krum, and he was just about to catch the snitch out from under him when—

“Hydrus! Wake up and grab your wand!”

Jolting upright, Hydrus did as he was told without a second thought. He was too tired to question why his mum wanted him up in the middle of the night, but he knew it must be important. Was someone injured? Had a wild animal gotten into the campsite? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good—not if his mum had instructed him to get his wand.

In the low light of the tent, Hydrus could see a worried frown and wild eyes on his mum’s face. She looked fierce and determined and terrified all at once, a look he’d seen her wear more this summer than ever before. It was the expression of someone on their way to war.

“What’s going on?” asked a groggy, nervous Hermione, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand and tightening her grip on her wand with the other.

“People are attacking the campers—muggles and magicals alike,” Mum told her bluntly, causing both twins’ eyes to widen in alarm.

As if on cue, a loud explosion rattled the very ground they stood upon. Terrified screams echoed through the campsite, followed by stampeding feet and flurries of spellfire. It wasn’t merely an attack; it was a massacre.

“Rod, Marvolo, and I are joining the fight until Auror reinforcements arrive,” Mum continued. “You three—” she gestured to Hydrus, Hermione, and Dade “—will be staying in the tent with your Uncle Rabastan until we return to give the ‘all clear’. You will listen to him no matter what. If he tells you to hide, you hide. If he tells you to flee, you flee. Do you understand?”

The three teens nodded vigorously. None of them wanted to do anything that might put themselves or any other family members at risk of getting hurt, and they knew they’d only be a distraction to the adults fighting if they tried to go against the orders they’d been given.

“I’ll keep them safe, Bella,” Uncle Rabastan assured her, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Mum gave a sharp nod and told him, “You’d better,” before running out of the tent to join the mayhem outside.

Almost as soon as Mum disappeared, Sirius and Remus rushed in. Their wands were out and their hair was in disarray, as if they’d run a lap around the quidditch pitch instead of the few feet between the two tents. Remus looked almost feral—a vicious sneer on his lips and the golden glow of his eyes reminiscent of his fully transformed werewolf form.

“Grindelwald supporters,” Sirius said by way of explanation, his fist tightening around the handle of his wand. “We heard them proclaiming support for their newly freed master as they cursed muggles.”

A low growl emanated from Remus’ throat. “Three of them won’t be able to proclaim anything ever again,” he informed them decisively.

Hydrus’ eyebrows shot all the way up to his hairline. He knew logically that Remus was a fairly strong werewolf and a trained fighter, but it was hard to picture his mild-mannered Defense professor killing anyone—let alone three wizards.

“We came back when we saw Bella and Rod out there,” Sirius added. “Figured you might want a bit of back-up, Rabastan.”

“I can hardly say no to an offer like that,” Uncle Rabastan conceded with a wry grin.

“It’s strange to think that there are people who support Grindelwald, especially nowadays,” Hermione said, pursing her lips. “All he ever did was go around massacring people. It’s not as if he had some kind of political agenda for anyone to get behind.”

“There are still neo-Nazis, and Hitler was way worse than Grindelwald,” Dade pointed out.

Hermione huffed in annoyance. “They don’t make sense either,” she declared. “There’s no logic behind supporting someone like that.”

Hydrus was inclined to agree. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of subjugating or even killing off entire populations and subpopulations for the sole reason of not liking them. And while it could be argued that muggles were a threat to wizards (he wasn’t going to even _try_ finding any underlying explanation for the neo-Nazi thing), that threat was much better handled by keeping their societies as separate as possible. Besides, Grindelwald didn’t only target muggles. He also had no qualms about killing off certain muggle-borns, half-bloods, and even pureblood orphans if it suited his needs. His plans were a danger to every aspect of society.

“Some people are just absolute monsters,” Sirius told her. “Most aren’t, but there are always going to be those who believe in their own superiority so much that they’re willing to destroy anyone who they find lesser.”

“Like Dolores Umbridge,” Dade said smartly. “She’s always trying to push creature registries, but history shows that people like her won’t sop with just a registry.”

Remus growled at the mention of Umbridge—undersecretary to Minister Fudge and a known blood purist. She hated everything and everyone that wasn’t a pureblood witch or wizard, and made no secret of that fact.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t make any sense either, though!”

“No, not to us, she doesn’t,” Uncle Rabastan agreed. “But she makes sense in her own mind, and that’s what makes her and people like her truly terrifying. They see reason in their own hatred and cruelty, no matter how depraved the rest of us find it.”

Hermione still didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue the point any further.

“Do you smell that?” Remus asked all of a sudden, sniffing at the air in both curiosity and distaste. “It smells like burning rubber, or maybe plastic.”

Sirius and Uncle Rabastan exchanged worried looks. “You don’t think…?” Uncle Rabastan asked.

“I do,” Sirius replied with a grimace.

“Kids, get out of here and hide in the woods!” Remus instructed them. “And quickly! They’re setting fire to tents out there.”

Hydrus gulped. He understood the implications all too well. If they stayed here, they ran the risk of finding themselves trapped in a burning tent.

“What about you three?” Hermione asked, worried.

Uncle Rabastan brandished his wand. “We’re going to hold them off while you make your escape.”

A loud _crack_ resounded in the not so far distance, followed by a shrill scream.

“Go!” Sirius urged them. “Now!”

The three teens bolted from the tent, only to stumble upon a horrific scene approaching them from the semi-darkness. _A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Hydrus squinted at them… They didn't seem to have faces… Then he realized that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small._

_More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Hydrus saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder._

_The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Hydrus recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee._

_"That's sick," Dade muttered, watching the smallest muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. "That is really sick..."_

Hydrus could only nod dumbly in agreement. It was horrific to see these… he was ashamed to call them wizards… acting so cruelly to innocent muggles. He might not be a muggle-lover, but, on the whole, they didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. What had Mr. Roberts and his family ever done to deserve to be attacked like this?

Hermione grabbed both boys by the arms and dragged them away from the marchers. “Come on!” she urged them. “We don’t have time to stand by and watch! We need to get out of here!”

“But—”

Hydrus wanted to argue that they needed to do something to help the muggles, but Hermione was hearing none of it. Instead, she pulled even harder on his arm in the direction of the woods.

“Don’t you get it?” she told him, half frantic. “If they’re willing to do that to muggles, what do you think they’d do Dumbledore’s biggest detractors? We’d be lucky to get a quick death!”

Realizing his sister was right, Hydrus ran after her a bit faster. Three teens didn’t stand a chance against a small army of fully trained wizards—let alone wizards that would hold them at least partially responsible for the current state of affairs with Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

It didn’t take long to reach the edge of the forest after that. They’d nearly run into a pair of masked wizards who’d been chanting Dumbledore’s name like a prayer, but luckily, they were able to duck behind a tent without being seen. Once they’d gotten past those two, it had been a clear path to the treeline.

Hydrus took a deep, steadying breath looked around. A bit of firelight trickled through the trees, giving him a dimly lit view of the nearest campsites. “Do you think we’re hidden well enough here, or should we go back a bit further?” As much as he appreciated being able to see what was going on, he was worried that one of the Grindelwald supporters might see them right back.

Before the others had a chance to respond, Ludo Bagman appeared from deeper within the woods, following the pale light coming from his wand.

Even in the low light of the forest’s edge, with nothing but fire and Bagman’s wand tip for illuminate their faces, Hydrus could see that Bagman was looking worse for wear. _He no longer looked buoyant and rosy-faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained._

_"Who's that?" he said, blinking down at them, trying to make out their faces. "What are you doing in here, all alone?"_

The three teens looked between themselves, surprised and a little bit confused. Why wouldn’t they be out here? It wasn’t as if there was anywhere safer to hide.

“Well…” said Dade, unsure, “it’s mostly because of the terrorist attack, isn’t it?”

Bagman’s eyes bulged so big that Hydrus feared they might burst. “What did you say? A t-terrorist attack?”

Dade nodded. _"At the campsite… Some people have got hold of a family of muggles..."_

_Bagman swore loudly._

_"Damn them!" he said, looking quite distracted, and without another word, he disapparated with a small pop!_

_"Not exactly on top of things, Mr. Bagman, is he?" said Hermione, frowning._

“Definitely not,” Hydrus agreed. “Too many bludgers to the head, you think?”

Dade’s eyebrows furrowed together. “To be honest, I’m more interested in finding out what he was doing out here in the woods if he wasn’t hiding from Grindelwald’s men. It seems a bit suspicious, if you ask me.”

Hydrus was taken aback by Dade’s astuteness. He hadn’t even thought of that. What _was_ Ludo Bagman doing in the forest? And how long had he been in there? It must’ve been at least since before the start of the riot, but that was almost an hour ago.

“He looked off, too, almost frightened,” Hydrus added, thinking back to Bagman’s startled, disheveled appearance. “But why would he look like that if he didn’t know about the Grindelwald supporters attacking everyone?”

“Do you think he was meeting whoever he’d been gambling with?” Hermione asked.

“Maybe,” Dade conceded, “but why so deep in the woods? And why now? It’s been hours since the game ended.”

“Wasn’t he good friends with Crouch Sr. at one point?” Hydrus pointed out, remembering something Barty had said about the two planning some big event—probably this very Quidditch World Cup match. “I mean, Crouch Sr. was deep in Dumbledore’s pocket, and if Bagman was close to him…”

“Then he might’ve been involved in the riot,” Hermione finished for him, looking thoroughly disgusted.

Dade nodded. “Or he could’ve just been tipped off ahead of time and decided to get out of their way for a little while.”

They didn’t have long to speculate Bagman’s potential involvement or lack thereof in the riot. The youngest four Weasleys spotted them shortly after and came running in their direction, loudly proclaiming their relief that they were all okay. Ron even went as far as to hug—or rather, squeeze the life out of—Hydrus and Hermione, and needed to be pried off by Fred and George so that the Lestrange twins could breathe.

“How’d you lot end up out here anyway?” George asked.

“We’d have thought your parents would have you surrounded by an armed guard,” Fred explained, only half joking around.

Ginny shoved her brother. “Oi! No need to be rude.” Turning to Dade, she added: “But seriously—how’d you all end up separated from your family?”

Hydrus, Hermione, and Dade took turns retelling the events of the evening. They covered everything from when Mum woke them up all the way through the strangeness of Ludo Bagman coming out of the woods in a frightful state. Fred and George cringed a bit when it came to Bagman, and were once again quite relieved that they’d been dissuaded from making a bet with someone as shady as him. Things just weren’t adding up when it came to him.

“Most likely Bagman just got roughed up by loan sharks, but it _is_ concerning that you stumbled upon him when you did,” George said once the Gaunt-Lestrange clan’s story was finished.

Fred nodded in agreement with his twin.

Ginny, however, wasn’t as optimistic. “Well I think he was giving the rioters a silent go-ahead to terrorize everyone,” she insisted. “I mean, the point about him having been close to Crouch Sr. is a compelling one. If he’s willing to associate with people like that, who’s to say he wouldn’t hang around worse?”

“He might’ve even known about what happened to Barty and never said anything,” Ron pointed out, surprising everyone. “I say you should tell your parents what you saw so they can keep an eye on him.”

A tree branch snapped with a loud _crunch_ somewhere nearby, and all the teens fell silent. They looked around, suddenly on high alert, trying to find the source of the sound. Hydrus hoped it was just a wild animal, but, considering the amount of noise humans had made in the area, he doubted any animals were still around. Yet he didn’t see any sign of a person either. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Hello?” Ron called out. “Anyone there?”

Ginny clapped her hand over Ron’s mouth. “You idiot!” she hissed. “What if it’s a Grindelwald supporter?”

Ron had the decency to look thoroughly scolded, his cheeks flushing as red as his hair.

But whoever—or whatever—was out there didn’t pay them any mind. A shrill female voice cried out the name of an unfamiliar spell, and then, with a blinding flash of white light, a strange symbol floated high into the sky. It was a triangle with a circle in the middle and a straight line cutting the whole shape in half. Hydrus recognized it from _somewhere_ , but he couldn’t for the life of him place where he’d seen it before.

“Grindelwald’s sign!” Fred shouted.

“We have to get out of here!” George told them. “Now!”

Almost as soon as they started running, a stampede of yelling and thunderous footsteps sounded off behind them. Hydrus whipped around to see at least twenty wizards, all with their wands out, looking ready to attack.

_Without pausing to think, he yelled, "DUCK!"_

_He seized the others and pulled them down onto the ground._

_"STUPEFY!" roared twenty voices — there was a blinding series of flashes and Hydrus felt the hair on his head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. Raising his head a fraction of an inch he saw jets of fiery red light flying over them from the wizards' wands, crossing one another, bouncing off tree trunks, rebounding into the darkness—_

“STOP!” shouted a familiar voice. “Put your wands down! Those are my kids!”

Hydrus peered up from his place on the ground to see Mr. Weasley approaching them, his face set in a deep, worried frown. Not far behind him was a small swarm of unfamiliar witches and wizards, several of which were in red Auror robes. They still had their wands out, pointed directly at Hydrus and the others, but they no longer looked ready to attack if the teens so much as breathed wrong.

“Are you lot alright?” Mr. Weasley asked them before turning to his kids. “I was so worried when you four got separated from the others! I’m so glad you’re safe.”

Hermione arched a skeptical eyebrow, her gaze still on the group of armed wizards behind Mr. Weasley. Clearly she didn’t trust his assertion that they were all safe, at least not yet, and Hydrus couldn’t help but agree.

“What’s the meaning of all this?”

Relief washed over Hydrus at the sound of his father’s voice. Everything was going to be fine.

“Turning your wands at children,” Father continued, voice dripping with disgust. “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?”

“Lord Gaunt!” squeaked one of the Aurors. “They were the ones to cast Grindelwald’s sign! We caught them at the scene of the crime!”

Father glared at the Auror. “Indeed? You think this group of children—a mix of Weasleys and my own family, no less—were the ones responsible for Grindelwald’s sign? Tell me, do you always blame victims of Dumbledore and Grindelwald’s machinations for the crimes of those who’ve wronged them?”

“Well…” The Auror trailed off, hanging his head in embarrassment.

Father turned his attention to the crowd at large. “Instead of conducting yourselves in a manner befit of rational, fully trained wizards as you ought to, you panicked at the sight of schoolchildren hiding in the woods from the real perpetrators,” he spat. “How truly pathetic our Ministry must be to mistake them—” he gestured to Hydrus and the others “—for dangerous rioters. If only you could have turned this… fanaticism on the actual rioters destroying the campsite, rather than leaving the civilians to protect themselves until the last moment.”

Most of the Aurors and Ministry wizards had the decency to look ashamed, but one did not. He was a stout man with graying brown hair and a slight resemblance to the Hufflepuff seeker—Cedric Diggory. His thin lips were set in a scowl, and his eyes burned fiercely with defiance.

“Now see here, Lord Gaunt!” he blustered. “You may be blinded by your trust in these teenagers, but you can’t ignore the evidence in front of your own eyes. They were found hardly a few feet from Grindelwald’s sign. It’s suspicious at best, treasonous at worst.”

Hermione cast Hydrus a look that screamed ‘is he being serious right now?’, a sentiment that could be found on just about all the teens’ faces, as well as Father’s and Mr. Weasley’s. Even some of the Ministry wizards looked to be on their side. At the very least, they seemed to think a line had been crossed.

“Amos,” one of them scolded the man. “Lord Gaunt is right. They’re just kids, and kids who’ve been victims of Dumbledore and Grindelwald’s schemes at that.”

The man called Amos looked as though he wanted to keep arguing, but was cut off by Father declaring, “If that’s all, Arthur and I need to get our children to safety.”

“Of course, Lord Gaunt,” said the wizard who’d scolded Amos. “So sorry for all this hassle. I do hope the rest of your evening passes much more quietly.”

Father stalked out of the forest, and Hydrus and the others followed suit. They didn’t want to risk the chance of the Ministry wizards changing their minds and picking up where they left off on their hysteria. Knowing the Ministry’s track record of going after innocent people, especially members of their own family, the teens had no interest in trying to make that Amos fellow see reason. Better to simply remove themselves from the situation than try to defend themselves to those who would never listen.

Still, Hydrus couldn’t help but wonder who _did_ cast the spell to put Grindelwald’s sign into the sky like that. He remembered it being shrill, almost feminine, which ruled out the possibility of Ludo Bagman. But could have still been involved? And why had the Ministry wizards been so quick to pin the blame on them? He shook his head. Things never were simple, were they?


	7. Censure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter about the fallout from the quidditch world cup attack. it may seem like filler, but some of this is going to be relevant later so pls don't dismiss it outright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't own harry potter

The wizarding world grew frantic in the days following the international disaster that was the post-World Cup terrorist attack. While Minister Fudge and Ludo Bagman did everything they could to minimize the backlash—mostly through an endless series of press conferences and interviews—the French, German, Austrian, and Swiss Ministries of Magic had all declared Britain “unsafe for travel” and put out temporary restrictions on international portkeys. The Magical Congress of the United States of America, more commonly known as MACUSA, was due to vote on a defense spending increase by the end of the week (not that anyone was surprised by Americans wanting to spend more money on defense). And, most shocking of all, magical spokespeople in both Canada and India publicly condemned the lack of real action being taken by the British Ministry—an action that led to more than a dozen other countries following suit.

“That an event of international significance lacked proper security, especially in light of the current political climate, is an act of negligence that cannot be ignored,” the Candadian Minister of Magic had proclaimed during the press conference that incited so many other leaders to speak out.

Hydrus was inclined to agree with the Canadian Minister. Looking back, he couldn’t remember seeing a single Auror or security guard throughout that whole day. Only obliviators had been present, and they were only there to deal with the muggles. It wasn’t until at least a half hour into the violence that anyone from the Ministry showed up to help. And all the while, Ludo Bagman was doing Merlin knows what in the middle of the woods.

Not all British wizards felt the same as Hydrus. A great many blindly believed in the Minister’s assertions and the opinions printed in the _Daily Prophet_. As far as they were concerned, the British Ministry did the best they could given the circumstances. Luckily for Hydrus, no one in his social circle was one of the idiots who felt that way. Only people who didn’t think critically seemed to be falling for the media’s falsehoods.

“I doubt even the people writing this drivel truly believe it,” Dad said with a frown as he placed the newspaper on the kitchen table and pushed it away.

Mum cocked her head to the side, curious. “What’s it say this time, love?”

“That they’re not even certain if the rioters were real Grindelwald supporters. Something to do with unclear motives…”

Hydrus snorted into his tea. It was a bit sad, honestly, how pathetic the Ministry excuses for inaction were getting. The attackers’ pro-Grindelwald proclamations, attacks on muggles, and setting Grindelwald’s sign in the sky made it pretty clear what their motives were. Even Ursa had managed to work that out on her own, and she was barely eleven.

“Not real bright, are they?” Hermione snarked between bites of scrambled eggs. “The Ministry officials, I mean.”

Mum gave a noncommittal hum. “How could they be? Most of them were appointed by Fudge, and he wouldn’t know intelligence if it bit him on the arse.”

“Seems Uncle Lucius’ pet idiot thinks he can do things on his own these days,” Hydrus disapprovingly added.

To hear Uncle Lucius tell it, Fudge’s only value was his willingness to let others walk all over him in exchange for money. One of the most powerful adversaries against Dumbledores anti-Dark crusade had been generous donations to the Minister’s office from the Malfoy, Parkinson, and Rowle families. Now though, without a clear opponent for him to focus on, Fudge seemed to be all over the place in his blustering attempts to look like he had things under control.

“Well he’s failing miserably at it,” Hermione retorted. “A barely trained circus monkey could do a better job.”

Her joke would have gone much more smoothly if either of their pureblood parents knew what a circus was.

It wasn’t just the Gaunt-Lestrange household that felt the Minister was doing an appalling job at managing the post-riot fallout—nor was the disapproval limited to Dark families that had historically been anti-Dumbledore and were now, by extension, anti-Grindelwald. The Longbottom, Bones, Patil, Prewett, and Weasley families had all become outspoken critics of the way things were being handled. Some were even pushing for a vote of no confidence, but they didn’t yet have the votes to do so due to the number of Wizengamot members who were prone to believing the _Daily Prophet_.

“Mum’s been working on convincing everyone in her knitting club,” Ron had told them over a floo call several days later. “And of course all those ladies will be telling whoever the head of their families are that something needs to be done about Fudge once Mum’s won them over.”

Mrs. Weasley’s knitting club wasn’t particularly large or influential, but it was predominantly made up of witches who had once been firmly pro-Dumbledore. Some still didn’t want to believe that Dumbledore could have done all the things of which he’d been accused, and as a result, were inclined to think the _Prophet_ ’s minimizing of the damage at the World Cup was accurate—if they thought Dumbledore’s die-hard fans were involved at all. Being around someone like Mrs. Weasley, who had once adored Dumbledore and now viewed him as the personification of all evil in their world, had done wonders in eroding the former headmaster’s influence on the families who had once followed him. There were still some holdouts, but Mrs. Weasley was confident she could convert them.

“She definitely can,” Hermione said decisively. “She might not have any interest in political power, but she’s so kind and painfully honest that people tend to trust whatever she says.”

And if Mrs. Weasley somehow couldn’t convince the rest of her knitting club about Dumbledore, Fudge, and the _Prophet_ , she could always convince one of the Longbottom ladies to sort them out. Both Augusta and Alice Longbottom were quite intense about their hatred of all the aforementioned figures.

*****

Colin Creevey sat in his bedroom at his family’s new home in Godric’s Hollow and reflected on how much his life had changed in the past few years. He’d grown up in the muggle world in a muggle home, believing himself to be a muggle (or rather, believing there was no such thing as magic) all the way up to the age of eleven. And then, the day before his birthday, a stern looking witch called Professor McGonagall had brought him his Hogwarts letter and told him he was a wizard.

From that moment on, everything was different. His parents were thrilled, of course, and had immediately agreed to let him attend Hogwarts. They’d even began to suspect that Dennis would get a letter of his own in a couple of years—something that had been proved correct just a few months ago on his little brother’s birthday. He’d gotten all his books on magic and his brand-new robes and even a wand. Professor McGonagall had warned him during their trip to Diagon Alley that some students might treat him differently for not growing up with magic, but promised that most wouldn’t care one bit so long as he kept on being his usual friendly self. And she’d been right. That prat Silas Mulciber and a few others had been rude, but he’d made three lifelong friends before the Sorting Hat had gone on his head.

Not long after his own integration into the magical world, his parents decided to follow suit. They were certain both of their sons would be wizards, and, even though they didn’t have any magic themselves, had learned from some of the other parents that there were several mixed muggle and wizarding communities that had once been quite popular for families like theirs. And so, after a few months’ consideration, the Creevey family packed their bags and moved to Godric’s Hollow. Colin’s dad had gotten a low level position at Fletchley Tech, a muggle and magical company owned by muggle-born Justin Finch-Fletchley’s dad. It was the perfect sort of job for those who knew about magic but couldn’t perform it, and the majority of his colleagues were either squibs or parents of muggle-borns.

But as idyllic as life in the magical world had been for the Creevey family thus far, Colin knew this new world of their was far from perfect. The former headmaster of Hogwarts—a once well-respected wizard by the name of Albus Dumbledore—had been charged with a laundry list of heinous crimes, fled the country, and broke a violent criminal out of prison. Now, Dumbledore and his criminal companion Grindelwald were running amok and getting their followers to plan terrorist attacks. And the Ministry of Magic was trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal!

Colin had been present for the attack on the Quidditch World Cup. He’d seen what the Grindelwald supporters had done and knew it was far, far worse than what the _Daily Prophet_ was reporting. Luckily, he’d had the presence of mind to snap a few pictures of the riot before fleeing with his dad and brother.

Even luckier was that his three best friends would be able to help him make an impact with his pictures. He wouldn’t have any luck proving the truth on his own, but maybe people would listen to his friends’ families. Ginny’s older brother Percy was now a lord on the Wizengamot. Luna’s dad was the owner and editor for _The Quibbler_ , a popular magazine that was equal parts magizoology, conspiracy theories, and actual news. And Dade’s uncle was the Dark Lord—one of Lady Magic’s three chosen magical leaders. If anyone could put the pictures he took to good use, it would be those three.

Colin took a deep breath and got to work. He had letters to write.

*****

“Hydrus! Hermione! Look at this!”

Hydrus barely had time to react before Dade was shoving a letter way too close to his face. He reared his head back in an attempt to read the contents of the letter, but Hermione, being the far more logical of the two, snatched it from Dade’s hand and began to read the letter out loud.

“Dear Dade,” she began, “It’s terrible how the _Daily Prophet_ and Minister Fudge are pretending that the attack on the World Cup wasn’t all that bad. I happened to snap some pictures of what _really_ happened that night, but I don’t know the proper channels for distributing them. Is there any chance your Uncle Marvolo would be interested in making sure they get seen by the right people? Mr. Lovegood has already agreed to print them in _The Quibbler_ , but I figured your uncle and Ginny’s brother Percy might be able to find some use for them as well. Please let me know if the included pictures are useful, as well as if you need anything else. Sincerely, Colin. PS: Do you know of anyone starting at Hogwarts this year? It’s Dennis’ first year, and he’s nervous because he doesn’t know anyone his age in the wizarding world.”

Hydrus’ eyes widened to the size of saucers. Colin’s idea was brilliant! With his pictures and Father’s influence, they might have a chance to correct the narrative of what happened that night at the Quidditch World Cup. It was easy enough for Fudge to discount a few firsthand stories that contradicted him, but he’d be hard pressed to explain away photographic evidence.

“Do you think Uncle Marvolo will go for it?” Dade asked the twins, sounding hopeful.

He pulled out the pictures in question and handed them to Hydrus and Hermione. Burning tents. Attacks on muggles. Masked figures marching around with their wands out. Each and every one was a devastating blow to the carefully constructed lies currently being published.

“Definitely,” Hydrus and Hermione said at the same time.

“The pictures will make discrediting Fudge far easier,” Hermione elaborated. “Imagine how it’ll look for him when these come out after days and days of him claiming that it wasn’t all that bad.”

A devious, Slytherin-worthy smirk graced Dade’s lips. “I can’t wait.”

“Do you think we should send copies to Lady Parkinson as well?” Hydrus asked them. “I don’t know if any of her colleagues at _Witch Weekly_ will have any use for them, but she’s got contacts at the _Daily Prophet_ who might be interested.”

Hermione nodded vigorously. “Absolutely! Remember how good a job her friend—was it Rita Skeeter?—did with the Chamber of Secrets story? I bet this story would be right up her alley.”

How could Hydrus ever forget the Chamber of Secrets story? The damage it did to Dumbledore’s reputation had been incredible. Even Hagrid, who Hydrus had once thought would never stop adoring the former headmaster, had been disgusted. Then again, Hagrid had been the one to suffer the most from Dumbledore’s cover-up of the Chamber and what really happened to Myrtle Warren.

“I’ll floo Pansy right now to see if she can convince her mum,” Hydrus decided with a grin.

“Just don’t let her start making her own plans,” Hermione warned him. “We wanted the Minister humiliated, not dead.”

Hydrus just laughed. No one in the world could control Pansy Parkinson, least of all him. If she wanted him dead after what Hydrus had to say, then there was nothing he could do to stop her.

*****

Three days later, Hydrus and Hermione found themselves once again sitting at the breakfast table with Mum and Dad. Father—who had been terribly tight-lipped about the latest Wizengamot session—was already up in his study, refusing to let anyone ruin the surprise he claimed would be in this morning’s _Daily Prophet_. Hydrus knew it had to do with the pictures Colin Creevy had taken, but beyond that, he didn’t have any idea what to expect.

Pansy had been thrilled when Hydrus offered to pass along copies of the pictures to her mum. She hated Fudge just as much as the rest of them—though she was far, far more vocal about it than anyone else—and had cackled at the idea of the Minister being outed as a fraud for the whole of Wizarding Britain to see. By the time their floo call ended, Pansy was already theorizing which reporters would do the most damage, and planned to share those theories with her mum.

That conversation devolved into all of Pansy’s ideas for getting rid of Fudge entirely. Some of them were harmless hopes of getting him kicked out of office for incompetence, while others involved convoluted manners in which to kill him without arousing suspicion. Hydrus wasn’t entirely sure whether she was joking about some of them, but decided not to ask so he could have plausible deniability should her plans ever come to fruition.

“Paper’s here!” Mum announced, snapping Hydrus from his recollections. He turned to see an old owl stick out its leg so that Mum could retrieve her copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

An excited shriek pierced the air before the paper had even finished unfurling. Mum had begun jumping up and down in excitement, and Dad had gotten up from his seat to read over the shoulder to see what all the fuss was about.

“What is it?” Hermione anxiously demanded to know. “What happened?”

Unable to form a verbal response, Mum turned the paper over to show—

**MINISTRY COVERUP? PROOF FUDGE LIED ABOUT THE WORLD CUP ATTACK**

One glance at the by-line answered everything Hydrus wanted to know: the article was penned by Rita Skeeter. Things were about to go horribly wrong for Minister Fudge. 


	8. Back to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hogwarts express and the sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't own harry potter

The damaging article about Fudge’s cover-up of the World Cup attack didn’t lead to any immediate political consequences for the minister, but it _did _have an impact on his social standing. Those who already took issue with his handling of things felt vindicated when they saw the article and accompanying pictures. The loyal _Daily Prophet_ readers, meanwhile, trusted everything Rita Skeeter wrote about Fudge, and became quite disillusioned with the minister. There was even some talk of people hoping to get rid of him before next year’s elections, but nothing had yet to happen on that front.__

__Luckily, the mess Fudge and Dumbledore and Grindelwald were making of things couldn’t distract Hydrus and his family from what mattered most—the upcoming school year. Some secret event was going to happen at Hogwarts this year, and every adult in the know had taken a vow not to leak any information until the students arrived at the school. The only thing the students were permitted to know ahead of time was that there would be a Yule Ball for students fourth year and up. If they wanted to attend, they needed to have presentable dress robes, as it would be a formal event. And so, the Malfoys, Gaunts, and Lestranges had spent quite a bit of time during their school shopping to get appropriate clothing for the ball._ _

__But this secret event and the Yule Ball weren’t the only reasons for Hydrus and his family to be especially excited for the upcoming school year. Finally, after years of begging and a lot of wishing herself old enough, Ursa Malfoy would be starting her first year at Hogwarts. Everyone in the family had already made their bets on which house she’d be sorted into. Most of them were certain that she’d be in either Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Both Draco and Tonks, meanwhile, were certain she’d sort Hufflepuff. Hydrus understood why Tonks would have a bias towards her own former house, but he couldn’t figure out why Draco thought his sister would end up with the badgers. She was far too devious for such a forthright group._ _

__“But Justin’s a Hufflepuff,” Draco had reminded him when he’d disagreed, “and you have to admit he’s got a cunning streak you wouldn’t normally expect from that house as well.”_ _

__Hydrus didn’t have an answer for that._ _

__By the time September first rolled around, Ursa had packed, unpacked, and re-packed her school trunk at least a dozen times. She kept worrying that it wasn’t done perfectly, or that she’d forgotten something, and kept reorganizing until she was certain everything was stuffed into the trunk in the best possible way. It was enough to stress out everyone else in the house. Draco had begun second-guessing his own packing skills. Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius, meanwhile, were already thinking of how they could deliver anything their kids had forgotten without putting too much of a burden on their family owl._ _

__Draco let out a long sigh of relief when he plopped down in Hydrus and Hermione’s compartment on the Hogwarts Express. “Ursa’s finally gotten everything sorted out,” he said, massaging his temples. “You’d have thought the world was ending when she couldn’t find Astoria.”_ _

__Astoria Greengrass was Daphne’s younger sister and Ursa’s best friend. The two hated being apart, and Hydrus half believed Ursa would follow Astoria into whatever house she got sorted into just so they could stick together._ _

__“I heard from Dade that Colin’s brother Dennis has been just as high-strung about coming to Hogwarts,” Hydrus told his cousin. “Apparently he’s been following Colin around like a shadow all summer, asking him all sorts of questions about the teachers and the classes and which kids are most accepting of muggle-borns.”_ _

__“He also asked Dade all those same questions,” Hermione added._ _

__Draco’s eyebrows shot up at that. “It’s hard to imagine an eleven year old being so concerned about how blood prejudice might affect his schooling.”_ _

__“Not really,” Hermione said with a shrug. “I was a bit worried about the same thing back when I thought I was a muggle-born. Granted, I decided to go about it by bluntly telling everyone my blood status to monitor their reactions instead of getting an inside source to help me out.”_ _

__“Well I suppose that’s one way to do it,” Draco replied, though he didn’t look all that convinced of the plan’s merits. Hydrus could understand why. It was also a way of guaranteeing she made enemies right from the start._ _

__Not long after Draco finished getting settled in their compartment, Pansy and Padma swung by to invite Hermione to sit with them—as well as Daphne and Sue Li, who had been too wrapped up in a conversation about their Arithmancy homework to ask Hermione themselves. Hermione went with them, and, almost immediately after she did, was replaced by Neville and Ron._ _

__“Everyone have a good summer?” Neville asked as he took a seat across from Hydrus. “Other than the terrorist attack at the World Cup, I mean.”_ _

__Ron shrugged. “It would’ve been better if my mum wasn’t so paranoid about Dumbledore coming back,” he admitted. “He knows where the Burrow is, so Mum got Bill to put extra wards up around the house and lawn. We weren’t allowed to go beyond the boundaries at all after what happened at the World Cup. Mum even owl ordered all our school stuff this year. Didn’t trust Diagon to be safe enough.”_ _

__Hydrus was taken aback by the precautions the Weasley matriarch had taken. His parents had been warier than usual about going out or letting the kids go anywhere on their own, but they hadn’t gone nearly so far as to put the family on lockdown. They’d just needed adult supervision and emergency portkeys._ _

__Even Neville looked alarmed by how far Mrs. Weasley had gone, and he tended to be an overly cautious person. “And I thought my parents drilling me on shield charms was over-protective…”_ _

__“My father’s more concerned about those in the Ministry who still support Dumbledore than the possibility of another open attack,” Draco confided in them, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. “He hasn’t heard anything concrete as of yet, but the lack of arrests after the World Cup has him suspicious.”_ _

__“There’s really been no arrests?” Ron asked, worried._ _

__Draco shook his head. “None. The DMLE is looking into it to the best of their abilities, but the scene was pretty much cleared and a lot of evidence was destroyed before they got the chance to investigate. Tonks, our cousin—” he gestured to Hydrus and himself “—even let it slip that some of the evidence they _did_ manage to get their hands on has disappeared.”_ _

__Hydrus had been present for that conversation, so he wasn’t nearly as shocked as Ron and Neville—both of whom were staring, wide-eyed and mouths agape, at a conspiratorial Draco._ _

__“But who would do such a thing?” Ron demanded to know. “It’s — it’s — it’s bloody awful is what it is!”_ _

__“There’s bound to still be people who like Dumbledore enough to steal evidence from the DMLE,” Neville reasoned despite looking just as nervous as Ron did angry, “especially considering how many were willing to riot on his and Grindelwald’s behalf.”_ _

__Ron didn’t look at all appeased by Neville’s explanation. “But to cover it up like that just makes it even worse!” he argued._ _

__“Ron,” Draco said in a clear, concise voice, “I don’t think stealing evidence is a big deal for people who support genocidal maniacs.”_ _

__That shut Ron up, but he didn’t look happy about it._ _

__“Plus there’s also…” Hydrus hesitated, unsure if he should relay some of the whispers he’d heard around his own home but deciding to anyway. “I mean… there are some traditionalist purebloods who aren’t exactly happy that the current Dark Lord speaks openly against blood prejudice. People like that are probably turning to Grindelwald because he’s got no problem killing muggle-borns.”_ _

__Father most certainly hadn’t intended for Hydrus and Hermione to overhear that particular conversation, but snippets of it had still made it to the twins’ ears thanks to forgotten privacy charms. A few more the more extremist pureblooded bigots had turned against him during the last war because he hadn’t wanted anything to do with blood purity rhetoric and had even lost his temper when one of his followers decided to kill a muggle-born and his family. Separating the issues of blood and culture was something certain people simply couldn’t abide by._ _

__Despite his own insistence that he wouldn’t tolerate blood prejudice, Dumbledore’s people had been quick to rewrite history in a way that implied purity was one of Father’s founding principles. They conveniently forgot the high esteem in which he’d regarded Lily Potter, the muggle-born friends he’d made during his years at Hogwarts, and his own half-blood status. And so, during his years as a wraith, more and more pureblood extremists obsessed over the promise of a leader for their bigotry—only to be disappointed when Father returned._ _

__“It’s strange to think of Dumbledore as being on the same side as a monster like Grindelwald,” Neville said quietly. “For decades, people saw him as the defender of muggles and muggle-borns, but…”_ _

__“But it turns out it was all just a power grab,” Ron finished bitterly, clenching his firsts._ _

__There was a long, tense pause before Draco decided: “Let’s talk about something else. The upcoming school year, perhaps?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Neville agreed, though he didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic. He paused, brows furrowed and lower lip caught between his teeth, as he tried to come up with a safe conversation topic. “We’ve never had a formal dance at the school before. I wonder what it’ll be like.”_ _

__Ron shrugged. “Probably a bit embarrassing, if we’re being honest. I mean, I can’t really picture any of our teachers knowing how to host a formal ball.”_ _

__“School dances in the muggle world were always incredibly awkward,” Hydrus agreed. He’d left muggle school before he was old enough to attend those dances, but he’d heard enough stories and seen enough pictures to know they tended to be a cheap, poorly put together attempt at the real thing._ _

__“Aunt Andromeda—I mean, Professor Tonks—might be able to keep it from being a total disaster,” Draco reasoned. “She’s never hosted a ball, at least not to my knowledge, but she _did_ help Mother with both last year’s Yule Gala and Sirius and Remus’ wedding.”_ _

__“Plus she could always ask Aunt Narcissa for pointers if need be,” Hydrus reluctantly agreed. He still didn’t hold high hopes for a school-sponsored dance, not even with the influence of two of the most refined women to ever come out of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black._ _

__Neville frowned slightly. “To be honest, I’m more worried about finding a date than whether or not the dance is properly fancy.”_ _

__The other three boys all grimaced. Hydrus hadn’t even thought about that particular aspect. He had simply assumed he and his friends would all go together in a big group. Who would he even ask? He couldn’t think of anyone he’d want to ask on a date, and worried his less than superb dancing skills would ruin the night for whatever poor girl agreed to go with him._ _

__“You could always go with Ginny or Luna since third years can’t go unless an older student brings them,” Ron pointed out. “Just don’t put any moves on my sister, and I won’t have a problem with you asking her.”_ _

__Hydrus perked up at that idea. If he absolutely had to bring a date, he’d much prefer going with a friend who wouldn’t expect anything out of him. Ginny and Luna were both fun to be around, and there was the added benefit that Ginny didn’t seem to be all that interested in boys. He doubted she’d want to a boy to ask her properly but would agree to go with one just so she could attend the dance. He’d have to consider that as his back-up plan._ _

__“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Neville assured him. “I don’t even know any moves to put on a girl.”_ _

__“I don’t either,” Ron admitted. “It’s just what my older brothers always say, so I figured I ought to give you the warning in their stead.”_ _

__“Even if I _did_ know any moves, I’d certainly never waste them on a _girl_ ,” Draco said imperiously._ _

__“We all figured as much,” Hydrus teased his cousin._ _

__Due to the lack of prejudice based on sexual orientation in the wizarding world, LGBT witches wizards didn’t “come out” the way muggles did. Their preferences simply existed—out in the open and casually discussed. And while Draco might have never before stated his preferences so plainly, at least not in front of Hydrus, he’d never been secretive about it either._ _

__“I get it, mate,” Ron replied. “After growing up around both Ginny and my mum, I’m not too keen on the idea of spending my life with a girl either. They’re a bit terrifying in all honesty.”_ _

__Based on that explanation, Hydrus got the feeling that Ron didn’t actually get it at all._ _

__Neville, however, seemed to be contemplating Ron’s words as if they were sage advice. “You do have a point there,” he admitted. “Then again, it might just be Gryffindor girls. They tend be a lot more intense than the girls in the other houses.”_ _

__Hydrus raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Have you not met Pansy Parkinson?”_ _

__“Oh,” Neville said, paling a bit. “She might be the scariest girl I’ve ever met, actually. Hermione, too, now that I think about it. But Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones seem alright.”_ _

__“So only Hufflepuff girls are normal,” Draco decided, “and the rest are a bit demonic.”_ _

__Everyone in the compartment agreed that Draco’s assessment was an accurate one._ _

__The rest of the train ride was uneventful—a much appreciated change from the previous year’s dementor scare. They’d still be guarding the school’s perimeter, unfortunately, though they’d been on their best behavior ever since Father killed one for attacking the quidditch pitch. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was a great deal better than Fudge’s apparent policy of letting them do whatever they wanted._ _

__Unfortunately, not even Father’s menacing could stop the dementors from gathering around the train station in Hogsmeade. They didn’t get overly close to any of the students, but their mere proximity was enough to make everyone rather subdued. The usual cheer that permeated every aspect of the carriage ride up to the castle was instead a quiet longing to get to the warmth and safety of the school grounds. Hydrus and his friends barely said a word to each other until their carriage passed through the Hogwarts wards._ _

__“Those wretched things shouldn’t be allowed to exist,” Draco muttered as he gave one last look at the dementors surrounding the school’s perimeter._ _

__No one in their carriage had could find any reason to disagree._ _

__By the time the carriages arrived at the front gates of the castle, Hydrus and his friends were feeling much better. They were still in need of some chocolate to fully recover from the after-effects of the dementors, but the anxiety and sadness that had plagued them from the moment they got off the train had mostly dissipated._ _

__The students all meandered into the Great Hall, and, after a bit of chatting with their friends from other houses, made their way to their respective house tables. Hydrus plopped down beside Theo, while Draco took the empty spot between his cousin and Blaise. Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey sat down across from the boys—while Millicent, Greg, and Vince sat just to the right of them, already wrapped up in a conversation about magical creatures that Hydrus wouldn’t have had any chance of following were it not for Dade being just as vocal about magical creatures as those three._ _

__“My da says I can start helping out with the occamies if I do well on my Care of Magical Creatures exam this year,” Greg said proudly. “He made my brother wait until after his OWL year, but I’ve been doing a lot better in Care than Garrett ever did.”_ _

__“That’s amazing!” Vince congratulated him._ _

__Both Millicent and Hydrus gave their congratulations as well. The Goyles were well known for their magical creature rescue—which was home to more than a hundred creatures saved from illegal trading rings, exploitative environments, and abusive owners. To work at their rescue was nearly as prestigious among animal lovers as working on the Scamanders’ rare creature preserve. For Greg’s father to trust him with more dangerous creatures at such a young age was quite the honor._ _

__Hydrus asked a few questions about the rescue, but their conversation quickly came to an end at the sound of nervous, shuffling footsteps filing into the Great Hall. The unsorted first years had arrived._ _

__“Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts,” Headmistress McGonagall announced as she stood up from her chair and made her way towards the Sorting Hat. “To those of you who are second years and older — I expect you all to treat the incoming students with warmth and kindness, regardless of house or surname.” She cast a short but icy glare at the upper years of all the tables. “And to our first years — please, when you hear your name, come up to the stand and place the Sorting Hat on your head and go to your new table as soon as you’re sorted. Your house prefects will take it from there.”_ _

__Hydrus looked at the group of anxious first years and wondered if he’d ever been that small. Logically, he knew he must have been, as he had been one of the smallest students in their year before getting his malnourishment fixed. But he certainly had never felt as though he was as tiny as the nervous group of eleven year olds he saw before him._ _

__“Augustine, Adam!”_ _

__And with that, the Sorting began. Little Adam Augustine ended up in Ravenclaw, followed by Solara Beckham getting sorted into Gryffindor and Margaret Carroll into Hufflepuff._ _

__“Creevey, Dennis!”_ _

__A young boy with sandy blonde hair and the same facial structure as Colin Creevey bounded up to the front of the hall and placed the Sorting Hat on his head. After a moment’s consideration, the Hat cried out—_ _

__“HUFFLEPUFF!”_ _

__Colin, Dade, and Ginny looked a bit put out that Dennis wouldn’t be joining them in Gryffindor, but the three of them still cheered just as loudly as everyone at the Hufflepuff table. Dade turned to say something to Colin, who in turn smiled a bit brighter. Whatever was said must’ve made him feel better about his brother being sorted into a different house._ _

__“We should ask Ron and Justin to look out for him,” Draco quietly suggested. “As harmless as most Hufflepuffs are, there’s still prats like Ernie Macmillan and Zacharias Smith there.”_ _

__Hydrus nodded in agreement. Smith and Macmillan might not give Dennis a hard time for his blood status, but they were sure to find some reason for mocking the boy. They gave everyone a hard time unless they were very important, and even then, they made their displeasure known if a person was important for reasons they didn’t like. Hydrus’ entire family fell into the latter category due to having Dark affinities. Unfortunately, Dennis didn’t even have the protection of belonging to a distinguished family—Dark or otherwise. He’d need all the help he could get against Smith and Macmillan._ _

__“Maybe it’ll give Justin a good reason to give those two another scathing dressing down,” Hydrus hoped._ _

__“They’d deserve it even without a good reason,” Draco replied, frowning a bit when he spotted Smith and Macmillan whispering to one another at the Hufflepuff table._ _

__“Greengrass, Astoria!”_ _

__Hydrus’ head snapped up towards the Sorting Hat at the sound of another familiar name. He didn’t know Astoria all that well outside the context of her being Ursa’s friend, but he was excited to see where she’d be sorted all the same. Wherever she ended up, he’d make sure someone in her house was able to look after her—just as he planned to do with Dennis and Ursa._ _

__The young blond flounced on over to the Hat, placed it on her head, and sat there for a very, very long time. A hatstall. It was rare for someone to take as long as this, and Hydrus was starting to worry that she’d never get sorted._ _

__“SLYTHERIN!” the hat cried after nearly eight minutes of silence._ _

__Hydrus clapped excitedly for the new addition to their house along with the rest of Slytherin—all save for one. Daphne Greengrass looked more irritated than happy to learn her little sister would be joining the snakes. She was still clapping for her sister, of course, but it was clear she’d have rather her sister be sorted elsewhere._ _

__“I bet five galleons that she’d sort into Ravenclaw,” Daphne explained when she noticed Hydrus watching her. “I was counting on her bookishness making me a bit of extra spending money for Hogsmeade trips.”_ _

__Hydrus was suddenly very glad he didn’t put any money down on Ursa’s sorting._ _

__“It must’ve been a close thing then, considering how long her sorting was,” Hydrus pointed out._ _

__Daphne huffed. “Clearly not close enough since I lost the bet.”_ _

__The rest of the Sorting was entirely uneventful. Ursa was unsurprisingly—at least in Hydrus’ opinion—sorted into Slytherin just like nearly every other Malfoy before her. She found a seat next to Astoria as soon as the hat came off her head, grinning like a loon all the while. It was clear she’d gotten what she wanted._ _

__Once the final first year made it to his new table (Nigel Wolpert, Gryffindor), Headmistress McGonagall turned to address the rest of the student body._ _

__“Now there are some important announcements to be made,” she told them, “but I daresay you’ve all waited long enough to eat. We can worry about that after the feast.” As if on cue, all the plates on the tables filled with piles and piled of mouth-watering food. “Dig in!”_ _


	9. The Triwizard Tournament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title's self-explanatory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> italics yoinked from canon

The Welcoming Feast was just as incredible as always. Platter after platter of savory meats and decadent side dishes made their way onto the table, and were quickly devoured by the ravenous young students. Conversations and laughter and witty banter filled the air between each bite as everyone caught up with their housemates after months apart. It was a wonderfully jovial atmosphere—something quite welcome after months of dreading Grindelwald and Dumbledore’s next moves.

There was still a slight undercurrent of tension even as the students tried to unwind. The presence of the dementors at the Hogsmeade station had put everyone on edge, though the mugs of hot chocolate that came with tonight’s dinner was helping to rectify that fact. Every once in a while, however, some of the more easily effected students would stare into nothingness or become inexplicably morose for a minute or two. Luckily, those moments tended to pass quickly.

Hydrus, for his part, was struggling to keep up with all the conversations going on around him. He wanted to catch up with everyone, but it was happening all at once, and he found himself only hearing snippets of one person’s summer exploits before being sucked in by whatever someone else was saying.

“Did you hear about what happened the Falmouth Falcons’ beater?”

“Mother insisted I learn to waltz because of this year’s Yule Ball…”

“—and don’t even get me started on the new dress robes line from Milan!”

The last comment had come from Blaise, who went to Magical Milan Fashion Week with his mother every single year. While most in attendance were there to admire the latest trends, the Zabinis went for the sole purpose of criticizing the more outlandish styles. They both liked to look good just as much as the next person, but they had a lot to say about the absurd robes witches and wizards with too much money and not enough sense tended to buy. 

“Did you see the pink and orange ones?” Pansy asked. “The ones with the stars all over them?”

Blaise pretended to gag. “Those were hideous!”

“Right? My mum said they reminded her of something Dumbledore would wear!”

Hydrus didn’t have to know exactly how the robes looked in order to laugh along with his friends. Pink, orange, and stars were quite enough indicators of how ugly the robes must’ve been. He could picture them all too easily, especially on their fashion disaster of a former headmaster.

But fashion—or lack thereof—was far from the most interesting topic at the table. Everyone was curious about the Yule Ball. According to Theo, there hadn’t been a formal ball at Hogwarts in nearly ninety years due to a combination of cultural erasure and lessening interest. Hogwarts had stopped formally recognizing the Old Ways around that time, and as a result, the vast majority of pureblood and half-blood students started going home for the holidays. With the school almost entirely empty, there was no reason to continue hosting balls on the major wizarding holidays.

“Our holidays still aren’t formally recognized by the staff,” Theo explained, “but the unofficial ban from Dumbledore’s time as headmaster caused a huge upswing in the number of people participating in the Old Ways. Maybe this Yule Ball is a sign that they want to bring back the celebrations of old.”

“Do you think they’ll ever sanction proper events for the old holidays?” Hydrus asked him, thinking back to the small Samhain gathering in Professor Prince’s classroom during second year. It had been an incredible experience, and he wished the school would have something like that for every Samhain. The Halloween feast simply wasn’t enough.

Theo shrugged. “No idea. I was actually going to ask you and Hermione that since you’re related to about half the teachers.”

It was a bit of an exaggeration, but Hydrus knew what his friend meant. As the son of the Alchemy professor (and Dark Lord) and the nephew of the History of Magic professor, he’d be more inclined to know what the teachers had planned than most of the other students.

“I can always ask my father,” Draco chimed in. “I’m sure he’d be willing to bring it up with the Board of Governors.”

The disappearance of the food and a _Sonorus_ from the Head Table stopped all talk of the Old Ways. Hydrus looked up to see Headmistress McGonagall gear up to speak.

“Now,” she said, “I do believe I mentioned announcements earlier. Firstly, as some of you already know, Professor Kettleburn retired at the end of last term. Please give a warm welcome to your new Care of Magical Creatures professor—our very own Rubeus Hagrid, who has recently finished his teaching apprenticeship.”

Hagrid gave an awkward wave from his spot at the Head Table.

Students clapped and cheered, far more excited than they used to be for the ever-changing Defense professors. Nearly everyone knew Hagrid to some capacity, and those who knew him couldn’t help but like him. It was an outrage that Dumbledore had hindered the half-giant’s education for fifty years. There was perhaps no one more deserving of the Care professorship than Hagrid.

Headmistress McGonagall waited until the applause died down before getting on with the rest of her speech. “ _Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."_

As she spoke, Headmistress McGonagall gave a pointed look to the Weasley twins, causing a few students to snicker. _"As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year,”_ she continued in the same no-nonsense tone she used during Transfiguration lectures. _"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."_

“WHAT?”

The entire student body was enraged. Quidditch games were the highest attended social events at Hogwarts. Draco’s face had scrunched up in irritation, while both Cassius Warrington and Adrian Pucey looked about ready to have an aneurysm. Hydrus was just glad that Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood had both graduated last year, or else McGonagall might’ve had a riot on her hands.

“Settle down, settle down,” the headmistress admonished the students. “Those of you who’ve had me as a professor ought to know better than to think I’d cancel quidditch without good reason.” That placated some of the students, especially the Gryffindors, who were most familiar with McGonagall’s quidditch obsession. _“We are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."_

_"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly._

“Great prank, Professor!” added George Weasley.

Headmistress McGonagall pursed her lips in a way that convinced Hydrus that she wasn’t joking at all. “When have you ever known me to joke, Mr. Weasleys?” she asked them. “Now, as I was saying, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year. _The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."_

“Death toll?” Draco asked quietly, alarmed. “We’re hosting a tournament that kills students? Has everyone gone mad?”

Vince shrugged. “It can’t be that bad. You can die playing quidditch, too.”

Draco didn’t look at all reassured.

“However, both the Department of International Magical Cooperation _and_ of Magical Games and Sports have assured the staff that this new incarnation of The Triwizard tournament will be far safer than in the past,” Headmistress McGonagall pressed on. “More… age appropriate tasks have been chosen this time around, and a staff of fully qualified medi-wizards will be there to treat any injuries that may occur. Additionally, a minimum age requirement has been implemented.” A few students booed at that, but McGonagall ignored them. “Students must be at least seventeen by the thirty-first of October in order to participate. Trust me when I say we have ways to prevent anyone underage from entering their name. Or, if you’d rather, I’m sure you can wait to see whatever the Weasley twins have planned backfire spectacularly.”

Hydrus couldn’t help but laugh at that.

_“The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand galleons personal prize money."_

There were quite a few whistles and raised eyebrows at that. A thousand galleons was a hefty sum, especially for a barely of-age student just getting ready to enter the real world. It’d go a long way in paying for a mastery or renting a flat or making investments. And for wealthier students like Cassius Warrington or Nadia Shafiq—both of whom were set to inherit millions one day—a thousand galleons would make for several extravagant shopping sprees.

_"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion_ , whoever they may be,” the headmistress told them in a warning tone, making it clear she wouldn’t tolerate any petty grudges that might come up over who was chosen. “Now, as I’ve talked at you for long enough, it’s time to let you go for the evening. Go on, get some sleep. You’ve all got classes bright and early in the morning.”

With that, the doors to the Entrance Hall swung open. The older students began filing out of the room while the prefects corralled the first years so they could be escorted to their new houses for the first time.

“This tournament sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” Draco lamented as they made their way to the Slytherin boys’ dormitories. “As if half the students at Hogwarts aren’t moronic enough to run headfirst into danger as it is! Now they’ll get to have an audience for their idiocy!”

“So you’re expecting a Gryffindor champion?” Blaise asked with a smirk.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t be absurd. There isn’t a single Gryffindor worthy of being made Hogwarts champion.”

“I don’t know about that,” Hydrus disagreed with a shrug. “Angelina Johnson wouldn’t be a bad choice.”

“Isn’t she only sixteen though?” Blaise pointed out.

Hydrus frowned. For some reason, he’d thought she was older than that. “In that case, Draco’s right. I don’t think we’ll have a Gryffindor champion.”

It wasn’t that Hydrus was biased against Gryffindors. In fact, due to their house traits of courage and daring, he might have been inclined to guess they were the most likely to enter the Triwizard Tournament. However, he couldn’t think of a single stand-out seventh year Gryffindor, especially not one impressive enough to represent the whole of Hogwarts.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we had a Slytherin champion?” Theo said wistfully.

“Definitely!” Draco agreed. “It’s about time Slytherin gets some proper recognition.”

Blaise snorted. “The rest of the school would likely riot.”

“Not unless they wanted to incur McGonagall’s wrath,” Hydrus reminded them, thinking back to her warning during her post-feast speech.

“As if that’s enough to deter some of the truly idiotic students,” Draco countered.

Hydrus just shrugged. Draco was probably right that some of the more anti-Slytherin students would ignore McGonagall’s warning to support the Hogwarts champion, but he wasn’t about to admit that. His cousin’s ego was already too inflated without hearing those words.

There wasn’t much more talk as the boys got ready for bed, save for the occasional guessing as to who exactly the Hogwarts champion might be. They didn’t know many of the seventeen year old students, and certainly not well, so their guesses were admittedly biased towards those they did know. Hydrus doubted any of their choices would be right, but it was still fun to try. After all, this would be the first year that all the excitement at Hogwarts was for a planned event rather than some impending disaster. He couldn’t wait to sit back and enjoy the fun.

*****

By the following morning, the entire school was buzzing with excitement over the Triwizard Tournament. Everyone wanted to know who the champions would be and what the tasks they’d be competing in. Fred and George Weasley had even started a betting pool over which house the Hogwarts champion would come from, though they’d loudly deny that fact if they thought you might rat them out to a teacher.

“You’d be surprised how much people are already putting down,” Hermione informed the Slytherins during Herbology. They were meant to harvest pus from the newly ripened bubotubers, which, while disgusting, was simple enough that they could chat while they worked. “There’s galleons on just about every seventh year and a few sixth years even though one’s even entered their name yet.”

“It’s a shame Fred and George won’t be seventeen until April,” Padma added, “or else I would’ve bet on them.”

Hydrus nodded in agreement. “I probably would’ve, too. They’ve got to be among the most brilliant minds Hogwarts has ever seen.”

“Mad as a couple of hatters, but brilliant nonetheless,” Hermione replied.

“I think the madness is part of what makes them so clever,” Padma admitted with a small smile. “They wouldn’t be half as inventive if their minds worked like everyone else’s.”

“At the very least,” Hydrus decided, “it makes them entertaining.”

Just about every other Ravenclaw was in agreement with Padma that one of the Weasley twins would’ve been the best options for a Ravenclaw champion if only they were old enough to enter their names. Even most of the seventh years had to admit that their strange ingenuity would have made them far more adept at handling anything the tournament threw at them than anyone else in their house. In fact, those in Ravenclaw who were interested in competing all hoped they could get Fred and George to help them brainstorm ideas for the tasks—something that left the twins beaming with pride.

“It’s because we’re seriously evil geniuses,” George had declared when he heard just how much everyone wished he and his brother could compete.

“Yeah,” Fred agreed, a huge grin spreading across his face. “There’s something to be said about a pair of diabolical wild cards.”

Hermione simply rolled her eyes at their antics.

“To be quite honest,” she told her brother once the twins were out of earshot, “I’m glad they’re not old enough to compete. I’d be too nervous to watch the tournament if they were chosen, especially given the death toll.”

Hydrus could understand that, and said as much. Picturing any of his friends in a deadly tournament made him feel a bit nauseous with worry. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if anything happened to them.

Gossip over who may or may not try to enter the Triwizard Tournament reached a fever pitch come dinner time. Rumor had it that some of the older students had even gotten into fights over which of their yearmates would be chosen. Hydrus didn’t know how true that was, but the bloody nosed Huffelpuff and roughed up Ravenclaw he’d seen on his way down to the Great Hall made him believe the rumor was more likely true than not.

It seemed that Headmistress McGonagall had heard about the fighting as well because her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line as she glared down at the students from her seat at the Head Table. She didn’t say anything about it, but her disappointment could be felt by just about anyone who looked her way.

“How in Merlin’s name were the Gryffindors so rowdy back when she was their Head of House?” Theo mused, going out of his way to avoid looking up at the Head Table. “I feel cowed into submission, and I haven’t even done anything wrong.”

Hydrus had been wondering that as well. If Professor Prince ever leveled that intense of a glare at him, he’d have run away and packed his bags—assuming all the while that he’d been expelled or worse.

“It just speaks to their lack of self-preservation,” Draco drawled.

“Or maybe being able to withstand that glare is what makes the Gryffindors so different from the rest of us,” Pansy joked.

A funny idea popped into Hydrus’ head. “Do you reckon she’s where our Head of House learned it from? I mean, he _was_ her student at one point.”

The young Slytherins burst into laughter at the thought of their dour Potions professor—just a student at the time—taking lessons on how to properly glare from Headmistress. It was all too easy to picture: a younger looking McGonagall demonstrating a wide range of intimidating expressions while a teenage Severus Prince in a Slytherin uniform furiously took down notes. 

Dinner was rather uneventful after that. Regular meals weren’t nearly as long or elaborate as the feasts, but the food still delicious. And even though most of the students had caught up with one another about their summer exploits, there was still plenty to talk about. Most were discussing their new schedules or the classes they’d had that day in varying levels of enthusiasm (apparently Hagrid’s first class had been quite funny, while Trelawney’s had been a waste of time). A few were even reenacting scenes from their classes to the best of their ability, much to the prefects’ ire, as one particularly enthusiastic actor had looked as though they were about to have a serious medical emergency.

Of course, talk of classes came only second to the countless debates over the Triwizard Tournament. Hydrus didn’t really understand why people wouldn’t shut up about. He may be interested in watching the champions compete in dangerous tasks, but he wasn’t so invested that he was willing to place bets or fight with anyone over it. Everyone was being quite ridiculous with their enthusiasm, at least in his opinion.

Headmistress McGonagall must’ve felt the same as Hydrus because, before dinner finished, she motioned for the doors to the Great Hall to swing shut and got up from her chair. “Before I let you all go this evening, there are a few things about the Triwizard Tournament that I wish to clear up,” she announced. “Firstly, there is absolutely no reason whatsoever for any of you to be fighting over who may or may not become the Hogwarts champion. Not only do you have nearly two months until a champion is chosen, but, no matter who it ends up being, they will be representing Hogwarts on a global scale. The students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will care not about house rivalries, and you shouldn’t either—at least not during a year without quidditch.

“Second, anyone caught placing bets on prospective champions can look forward to detention with Filch. Underage gambling is still illegal even when sponsored by fellow underage students.” She gave the Weasley twins an unimpressed look, and both did their very best to look innocent. “And please, for the love of Merlin, don’t behave as ridiculously in front of the other schools as so many of you have today. This tournament is to inspire international cooperation, not embarrass Britain in front of the whole European continent.”

Thoroughly chastised, the students were released and returned to their dormitories. Some of the students looked as though they were seriously considering the headmistress’ warning, while others appeared put out by her scolding. Hydrus was pretty sure he’d even heard a few complaining about her “ruining all the fun”. 

“People _were_ being rather absurd about the whole thing, weren’t they?” Draco mused once they got back to their rooms. “As much as I’d like a Slytherin champion, I’ll support anyone who’s capable of crushing the competition.”

Blaise nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’d rather have another house represent us and win than see a Slytherin lose in front of the whole of Europe.”

Hydrus still thought his friends were being a bit extreme in their obsession over the tournament, but he didn’t mind. They would all need something to look forward to since they wouldn’t have quidditch. And besides, it was better to focus on the excitement of the tournament than worry about whatever awful ideas Dumbledore and Grindelwald might be plotting.


	10. Laws, Rights, and Ethics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so much worldbuilding about the history of laws surrounding dark magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't own harry potter

The students eventually settled down in regards to their Triwizard Tournament obsession, much to the Weasley twins’ disappointment and the professors’ relief. Fighting lessened each day until it finally stopped, new bets were no longer being placed, and no one seemed particularly interested in guessing who the champion would be anymore. After all, no one would have a chance to enter until the end of October. Who knew who might end up changing their minds about wanting to enter by then?

Unfortunately, everyone’s attention was instead directed towards Dumbledore and Grindelwald, who had once again made their way into the papers. There had been a confirmed sighting in northern Slovenia four days into the start of term, and all of wizarding Europe was on high alert. They had yet to make a move beyond being seen—and, as far as most were concerned, being responsible for the World Cup attack—but their faces on the front page of every newspaper put everyone on edge nonetheless.

“Oh, honestly,” Pansy had complained one afternoon when they’d all overheard yet another half whispered conversation about the dangerous duo. “Everyone’s being so dramatic. It’s not as if they’ve actually done anything since Grindelwald broke out of prison. Report on it when they finally _do_ something.”

“They will eventually,” Theo insisted, sounding almost concerned about this as he was about his grades. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “And I’ll be appropriately horrified when they do. For now, though, there’s no point in panicking at the mere sighting of them—especially not when the sighting was in another country.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be prepared for when it happens,” Hydrus pointed out despite knowing that there was no chance of swaying Pansy’s opinion. There were precious few things in this world that worried her.

“I’m always prepared for an attack,” came Pansy’s cryptic reply.

Hydrus wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she meant by that, but decided to take her word for it anyway.

Luckily, there were plenty of other things to focus on so that they didn’t spend all their time worrying about Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Their classes had started up, and there was plenty to learn. Most of it was even interesting, and more students seemed genuinely focused on their classes than ever before.

OWLs wouldn’t be until the end of the following school year, but the difficulty of what Hydrus and his yearmates were learning had already begun ramping up in preparation for the seemingly far-off examinations. Transfiguration homework had become far longer and required much more explanation of theory than before, and Charms had nearly doubled the pace at which they were learning new spells. It wasn’t as unbearable as the OWL and NEWT students’ year was going, but it was quite an adjustment all the same.

And so, it was with a sigh of relief that Hydrus sat down at his desk in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He knew he wouldn’t have to fear being overtaxed in this class. Remus—who he always made sure to call Professor Lupin at school—was a patient, thorough teacher would be more than accommodating if students needed extra help to go along with this year’s increased workload. 

But thoroughness and patience weren’t Professor Lupin’s only virtues. He also knew how to teach in a way that kept students engaged throughout the entirety of the class. There were plenty of demonstrations, practical lessons, and even the occasional field trip to the Forbidden Forest back when they were studying Dark creatures. His varied teaching methods, in addition to combining theoretical and practical learning in a way that made sense, enabled all of the students to succeed in his class regardless of their learning type and natural abilities (or lack thereof) in the subject.

“Finally,” Neville declared as he took the seat next to Hydrus, “a class that’s actually fun. No offense to your aunt or anything, Hydrus, but I still find History of Magic boring even with Binns gone.”

“There are times where I do as well,” Hydrus admitted. While he no longer struggled to keep his eyes open in History, some topics simply couldn’t be livened up—not even now that they had a living teacher.

It didn’t take long until the rest of the Slytherin and Gryffindor fourth years made their way into the room and to their seats. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were just barely on time, having been all the way up in the Divination classroom beforehand, but Professor Lupin pretended not to notice their near tardiness. 

“Good afternoon, class,” Professor Lupin greeted everyone once the last two stragglers sat down in their seats. “I know it might be jarring to see me teaching this class for the second full year in a row, but welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

A few of the students laughed at his reference to the Defense post curse—including Hydrus. While most people didn’t know the true origins of the curse, most saw that it had only existed during Dumbledore’s tenure as headmaster and assumed it had something to do with him. Neither Hydrus nor anyone in his family had any plans of correcting the misconception.

“Now the primary focus for the fourth year curriculum is curses,” Professor Lupin explained, writing out C-U-R-S-E-S on the chalkboard. “Not only will you learn about the effects of the most commonly seen curses, but also how to both shield against them and perform their countercurses.”

A hand shot into the air.

“Yes, Mr. Thomas?”

“Will there be demonstrations for the curses, Sir?” Dean hesitantly asked, looking a little green.

“Only for the less gruesome ones,” Professor Lupin assured him. “I’m not about to perform Dolohov’s Curse or the Unforgivables in front of a bunch of fourteen year olds.” Multiple sighs of relief could be heard, causing the professor to shake his head, amused. “The Body Bind, Reductor, and Blasting Curses, however, will be both demonstrated by me and practiced by all of you—on training dummies of course.”

If this lesson had happened a year or two ago, Hydrus was certain that half the class would’ve been up in arms over the idea of learning how to perform curses. Dumbledore had instilled in far too many of the students’ minds that all Dark Magic was inherently evil—even relatively harmless prank curses like the Jelly Legs Jinx. Now, though, those who used to think that way were finally coming around to the idea that caster’s intent mattered more than the affinity of the spell cast. If Professor Lupin thought these curses would help them defend themselves, they were more than willing to learn them.

The strange thing was that, despite Dumbledore’s strong anti-Dark rhetoric, none of the curses Professor Lupin had mentioned were new to the curriculum. Or rather, they wouldn’t have been new if there had been a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor during Dumbledore’s tenure as headmaster. Each one of them appeared on the OWL exams and had done for well over a century. They were considered standard defensive magic, as were a number of other Gray and Dark spells that Dumbledore had discouraged students from learning.

Another hand was raised.

“Yes, Ms. Patil?” Professor Lupin called out.

“Professor, will we be learning any of the curses approved for competitions by the International Dueling Council?” Parvati asked. Her eyes were gleaming with a curiosity Hydrus had never seen from her before.

Professor Lupin smiled. “I should’ve known you’d ask that. Your father’s dueling career was quite illustrious. To answer your question—you will only be learning a few of them this year. The rest aren’t covered until after OWLs.”

Parvati looked terribly pleased with this answer, and Hydrus made a mental note not to get on her bad side. Perhaps there was more to her than the ditzy, Divination obsessed girly girl persona she’d taken on.

“While some of you may be wary of practicing magic that has been labeled Dark,” Professor Lupin began in an unusually serious voice, “these spells lack the alluring and sometimes addicting nature of Black Magic. They cannot and will not corrupt you. Curses are a branch of Charms, and as such, casting them will feel no different than casting any other charm. It may be a little trickier for those of you with Light affinities to master, but the extra exertion needed will likely be minimal.”

The students simply nodded along. By now, they were all familiar with the difference between Dark Magic and Black Magic. Decades of people claiming they were the same thing had done immense damage to the Dark’s reputation, but the misconception was finally being cleared up. While Dark Magic had more potential to do harm than Light and Gray Magic, it wasn’t necessarily dangerous. Black Magic, on the other hand, irrevocably stained a person’s soul. Necromancy, soul splitting, and enslavement magics—the most widely known subsets of Black Magic—made the caster feel an intense euphoria while destroying their body and mind.

“Does anyone have questions before we begin today’s lesson?” Professor Lupin asked.

The students shook their heads.

Professor Lupin smiled kindly at them. “In that case, let’s talk about the basic nature of curses. As it states in the first chapter of your textbook, curses are a subset of charms that deliberately cause harm. That harm can be anything from embarrassment to death, with the most commonly used curses falling somewhere in between. Additionally, curses may be directed at one’s surroundings rather than a living person. The Reductor Curse, for instance, is often used by Aurors who need to gain access to a locked room that doesn’t respond to an _Alohamora_. This enables them to quickly and efficiently blast a hole into whatever room they need to get into.”

Seamus Finnigan raised his hand. “Professor, how is that considered harmful? It sounds like a good thing, especially if there were someone in need of being rescued on the other side.”

“It can indeed be a good thing,” Professor Lupin agreed, “but it also causes damage to the building structure. And, if cast on a human being, the Reductor Curse cause seriously maim or even kill its target.”

“But the same could be said with casting _Wingardium Leviosa_ on someone and then dropping them,” Seamus countered.

Professor Lupin cast Seamus a wide grin. “That’s exactly, Mr. Finnigan. Gray and Light spells like the Levitation Charm can also cause damage if one wishes it to. But, in the case of curses, there will always be some form of damage—even if it that damage is used in a constructive way. Does that make sense?”

Seamus nodded. “Yeah, it’s like how Fiendfyre is super deadly and nearly uncontrollable, but still the best way to kill inferi.”

“Just so, Mr. Finnigan,” Professor Lupin said. “Just so.”

*****

After Defense Against the Dark Arts was History of Magic with the Ravenclaws. Hydrus had already been warned by Neville that today’s lesson was rather boring, but he was willing to keep an open mind. Even if it was about some painfully dull legislation from a thousand years ago or the life story of some long dead minister, it was sure to be better than Binns’ nonstop repetitive lectures on the goblin wars.

Hydrus spotted Hermione sitting in the middle of the room with her notebook opened to a fresh page and her History textbook beside her. She’d already memorized the whole thing over the summer—like she did with all her textbooks—but she liked to have them with her anyway just to feel prepared.

Meandering towards her, Hydrus took the seat to his sister’s left. “How’s your day been so far?” he asked her.

“It’d be better if people would stop complaining about this year’s workload,” Hermione admitted with a sigh. “Honestly, it’s not that bad. If anything, it’s less boring this way.”

“Not everyone can master the theory behind everything right away,” Hydrus reminded her, despite agreeing with her just a bit. He couldn’t imagine enjoying the increase in Herbology work, but he was thrilled that they’d be doing more than ever in Defense and Transfiguration.

Hermione snorted. “Oh, come on. Like you haven’t found all our classes just as easy as I have.”

“Not quite as easy,” Hydrus disagreed somewhat sarcastically. “You’ve been the top overall student for the past three years, and I’ve been all the way down at the _lowly_ spot of third place.”

Hydrus wasn’t actually bitter about his class ranking. In fact, he was incredibly pleased to be doing as well as he did. However, after Draco jokingly commented one summer about how “we can’t all be as perfect as Hermione” when their grades were released, all the teens in their family had taken to dramatically pretending that they couldn’t stand how “poorly” they were all doing by comparison. Hermione had been a great sport about it.

“Maybe so,” Hermione said in a faux lofty voice, doing her best to pretend to scorn her brother’s class ranking, “but you always come first in Defense. And you’re so good at Potions that you’re almost as bored in the class as the Weasley twins.”

Hermione had a point. Potions wasn’t Hydrus’ passion, but he quite liked it all the same. The only problem was, now that he understood the reasons why he needed to stir or cut a certain way, it was a bit too easy and quickly became repetitive. And unlike Draco and Professor Prince and even the Weasley twins, he lacked the creative drive to experiment with improving any of the potions they learned about. It left him miserably bored as he waited for the rest of the class to move onto the next lesson.

“Like you’re not exactly same with Herbology,” Hydrus retorted.

Hermione shrugged. “You would too if you’d memorized _1001 Herbs and Fungi_.”

With his sister’s perfect visual memory, identifying and remembering the properties of plants she’d seen in their textbooks was so simple for her that it bored her to tears. The only thing that kept her entertained was whenever someone had a mishap with their plants. Hydrus suspected that she had even plotted some of those mishaps. After all, no one ever did figure out who tampered with Terry Boot’s earmuffs during the mandrake lessons in their second year.

“Hello, everyone,” Aunt Andromeda—better known during the school year as Professor Tonks—greeted the class as she strode into the room. “Welcome to yet another year of the never-ending story we call History of Magic.”

The students quieted down and turned their attention to their professor. Unlike the ghost of Professor Binns who taught before her, Professor Tonks had a commanding presence that people paid attention to. It might not last through the entirety of her lectures, but students at least tried now that they had a professor as knowledgeable as her.

“As those of you who’ve read ahead in your textbooks already know, we’ll be spending the majority of this term focusing on the history of laws pertaining to restrictions on magic,” Professor Tonks continued. “Our main objective will be understanding restrictions in British law, but we’ll also be comparing our laws to those in other countries from time to time. Does anyone have any questions so far?”

Anthony Goldstein raised his hand, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Are our laws very different from others’, Professor?” he asked.

“Indeed they are, Mr. Goldstein,” Professor Tonks replied. “One example I can think of off the top of my head is that there are certain zones in the Americas where only wand magic is outlawed by their Statutes of Secrecy. Potions, rituals, and runes are perfectly acceptable to show to muggles in those areas.”

Nearly half the hands in the room shot up into the air.

“Yes, Ms. Parkinson?”

“Professor, could you please further elaborate on that?” asked Pansy. “Maybe tell us a bit about one of the zones in particular?”

“Gladly, Ms. Parkinson,” Professor Tonks said amiably. “Perhaps the most widely known limited Statute zones in the Americas are the United States cities of New Orleans and Las Vegas. New Orleans limits the restrictions of the Statute because of the longstanding history of both the muggle and magical residents practicing Voodoo. Rather than go through all the trouble of Obliviating everyone familiar with this history, their government decided to capitalize on it and allow some magical aspects of Voodoo to be displayed in shops accessible to muggles. They’ve grown quite the tourist industry from it, selling low-powered potions and relics to muggles and magicals alike. They also have a somewhat visible vampire community, but that’s a discussion for another day.

“Las Vegas, meanwhile, uses minor amounts of magic to create their flashy shows and keep their casinos up and running. About a fifth the card dealers in Las Vegas are either magicals or squibs with an educational foundation in Arithmancy. Street performers are also quite a popular sight there, with a not insignificant portion being magicals using their magic within the constraints of their Statute in order to make money.”

Hydrus could hardly believe his ears. He’d been vaguely aware of how widespread Voodoo was in New Orleans thanks to Blaise Zabini talking about it in their second year, but it had never occurred to him that their government would allow it to be shown to muggles. If anything, he expected that the muggle version was entirely its own thing. It seemed like a terrible risk to take, allowing muggles to know even some of the truth about magic. Still, he supposed it must work for them since he’d never heard of them having any problems with the arrangement.

He glanced over at Blaise to find him nodding along with what Professor Tonks had said—acting as though it was the most reasonable thing in the world. And perhaps it was. Blaise had been to New Orleans several times and had never come back mentioning anything strange occurring. He could have been describing the muggle areas just as often as the magical ones, and his friends would have never known the difference.

“Of course,” Professor Tonks said, getting the class back on track, “we’re not here to talk about the differences other Statues of Secrecy across the world—at least not for this lesson. Today we’ll be talking about the Dark Magic Purge of 1946. After Gellert Grindelwald’s alleged defeat in 1945, Europe and North America grew paranoid about the widespread use of Dark Magic, and, in particular, Dark rituals. 

“Most countries rushed to place heavy restriction on the use of Dark Magic, which, despite the recent terror caused by Grindelwald, led to a significant backlash in every country that had successfully managed to get their restrictions passed. Those who _couldn’t_ get restrictions passed, rather than taking the hint that the majority of their country didn’t agree with what they were trying to do, sought out the help of the International Confederation of Wizards.

“After months and months of intense and occasionally explosive debates, the ICW passed a ban on all Dark rituals, the celebration of holidays seen as Dark, a long list of books on Dark Magic, and any and all magic they labeled ‘deliberately harmful’—which made the use of blood magic and nearly all jinxes, hexes, and curses illegal to perform.”

Gasps and murmurs of outrage filled the room. To completely destroy so much knowledge and power over paranoia was unthinkable, especially to a room full of Ravenclaws and Slytherins. Even if some of those things truly were dangerous, the ICW had no right to try and remove an entire branch of magic simply because one evil person had used it. Doing so was a complete massacre of a huge portion of their culture and traditions.

“Professor Tonks,” said Padma Patil, her hand raised high, “if they banned all jinxes back then, then why are we allowed to cast them now?”

“Excellent question, Ms. Patil,” Professor Tonks commended her. “The answer lies in a world-changing piece of muggle legislation. Around the same time that Grindelwald was terrorizing the magical world, there was a German dictator called Adolf Hitler who was inflicting even more harm upon the muggle world. Under his rule, six million Jews and eleven million members of other minority groups he despised were systematically imprisoned, enslaved, tortured, and ultimately murdered for the simple reason of who they were.”

The room fell deathly silent. With the small size of the British wizarding population, it was nearly impossible for those who’d grown up in it to comprehend the sheer number of deaths Professor Tonks had mentioned.

“Hitler’s Germany had expanded their attacks into other countries, taking over their governments and killing both those who disagreed with them—as well as any Jewish, Romani, disabled, communist, Polish, and homosexual people who happened to live there,” Professor Tonks continued, “This led to what the muggles now call World War II. Nations from six continents fought in a long, bloody war that led to the deaths of seventy-five million people before Hitler and his allies were defeated in 1945.

“The aftermath of this muggle war had an entirely different outcome than the war with Grindelwald. Rather than destroy the weapons of their war, the muggles decided to ensure that their people could never be so horrifically mistreated ever again. And thus the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was born. This legislation demanded that all people be guaranteed certain freedoms, dignities, and protections under the law. Any leader found denying these rights to their people would be tried for their crimes by the United Nations—the muggle equivalent of the ICW.”

It was clear from the whispers around the room that a few people hadn’t figured out why they were getting an explanation of muggle history and what it had to do with Padma’s question. Hydrus, though, thought it was rather obvious. Something must’ve happened with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights that affected the wizarding world as well. He wondered if perhaps muggle-borns had taken up the issue with the ICW and argued that witches and wizards ought to have a list of human rights as well.

“Despite having a separate government, the magical world is subject to certain muggle laws,” Professor Tonks explained. “One such case of this proved to be Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Because Grindelwald had aided Hitler at times during the muggle war, he was tried under muggle law as well for violating the human rights of muggle-borns.

“While the ICW had initially been thrilled by this turn of events, they were decidedly ticked off when they learned their Dark Arts Purge of 1946 violated the basic rights of Dark magicals. They were given thirty days to either overturn the legislation or do time in a muggle prison. The ICW tried everything they could to keep that from happening, but, in the end, they were coerced by the UN under increasingly hostile threats into undoing their ban on Dark Magic. After all, the muggles had weapons that could blow up entire cities. Who’s to say they wouldn’t drop a weapon like that on the ICW itself?”

Theo’s hand shot into the air. “So basically we’re allowed to practice certain forms of Dark Magic because the muggle world leaders said it’s our human right to do so?” he asked.

“Yes,” Professor Tonks confirmed, “that’s exactly right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't even try to fucking tell me the muggle world has no influence over the magical one. you think wizards aren't scared of nuclear bombs and machine guns? think again!


	11. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beauxbatons and durmstrang arrive for the triwizard tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. italics yoinked from canon  
> 3\. fuck jk rowling

September flew by so quickly that most of Hogwarts wouldn’t have noticed the start of October if not for the increasing number of pumpkin themed decorations being placed around the castle. As the realization of the changing months sank in, so did the fact that the Triwizard Tournament was fast approaching. The tournament was once again at the forefront of everyone’s minds, and although it was less obsessive than last time, arguments over who would be the Hogwarts champion had started back up.

“It’ll be Randall. It’s got to be!”

“You’re barking! Everyone knows it’ll be Montgomery.”

“You’re both wrong. Baudelaire’s going to be the Hogwarts champion!”

Hydrus didn’t know who any of those three people were or what houses they were in, but based on what else he’d overheard in the hallway so far, he had a feeling this Montgomery person was a popular choice. About half a dozen people had brought up the name just today.

“I hope they’re all wrong,” Draco said once the other students were out of earshot. “Warrington would be far better than any of those nobodies.”

“Warrington would be great,” Hydrus agreed. He didn’t know the older Slytherin particularly well, but he’d always been nice—if a bit on the quiet side—whenever they crossed paths. He’d likely do a great job representing the school if he was chosen.

Draco, on the other hand, knew Cassius Warrington quite well. They were both on the quidditch team, and while there would be no quidditch this year, the two still chatted from time to time. As far as Draco and the rest of the Slytherin team were concerned, Warrington would have been their captain this year if not for the tournament and treated him as though he was. If they all thought he’d make for a good Hogwarts champion, Hydrus believed them.

A week before Halloween, a great big sign was posted on the doors to the Great Hall. Students immediately flocked to it like moths to a flame, swarming around it and tittering with excitement as soon as they got close enough to read what it said. 

“Reckon we should get a closer look?” asked Ron, nudging Hydrus in the ribs as they made their way to dinner along with Hermione.

Hydrus shrugged. “Might as well. It’s bound to be about the tournament.”

And indeed it was. The sign declared in massive, bold letters—

_**TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT** _

_**THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY. STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORE THE WELCOMING FEAST.** _

_"Only a week away!" said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him…”_

_"Cedric?" said Ron blankly as Ernie hurried off._

_"Diggory," said Hydrus. "He must be entering the tournament."_

Ron rolled his eyes. “I figured that much on my own, thanks,” he retorted. “I just didn’t think he’d be interested in something like that. He’s not exactly an adventurous sort.”

“But isn’t he supposed to be really smart?” Hermione asked. “Fred and George seem to think so. And he plays quidditch, which isn’t exactly a sport for cowards.”

“Bit of difference between being a good seeker and wanting to fight dragons—or whatever it is they do in the Triwizard Tournament,” Ron pointed out.

Hydrus arched a curious eyebrow. “Fighting dragons? You really think they’d have teenagers do something like that?”

“No idea,” Ron admitted, “but it must be something absurd like that considering how many champions got killed in the past.”

Hydrus conceded that his friend had raised an excellent point. It truly was an absurdly dangerous tournament that was bound to have all sorts of absurdly dangerous creatures for barely of-age teenagers to fight.

It wasn’t long after the sign was posted that the atmosphere of the entire school seemed to change. Something about reading the words had made the whole tournament feel more official in some way that no one could quite explain. Everyone was suddenly less concerned about bets and house pride, as students and teachers alike began unifying out of a desire to prove Hogwarts’ greatness to their soon arriving guests. The halls became cleaner and more festively decorated than ever before, and groups of students began to study together intensely so that no one would be behind their classes when the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations arrived. Some had even started going to the upper years in the hopes of learning more advanced material for the sake of showing off.

The teachers, meanwhile, were holding the students’ standards of behavior higher than ever before—and the students went along with it without a single complaint. After all, they wouldn’t be able to make themselves look better than the other schools if they were constantly getting into trouble and fighting amongst themselves. Detentions were down to a record low, even with the teachers being more adamant about enforcing the rules than usual.

This strange, obsessive need for school improvement only grew stronger as the month went on. _When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffiindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H._

“Bit excessive, isn’t it?” Blaise drawled, gesturing vaguely to all the decorations. “There’s bound to be more understated means of showing off school pride.”

“You’d think they’d decorate the tables to match at the very least,” Pansy replied with a slight frown. “If you’re going to display ostentatious silk banners all over the place, you might as well do a thorough job of it. It looks like it’s only half done like this.”

Hydrus had a different complaint entirely. “Why couldn’t they just keep the normal fall decor that’s usually out this time of year?” he wanted to know. “Seems a bit silly to go through all this effort for something that doesn’t even look as nice.”

“It’s like they think the Beauxbatons and Durmsrang students will forget where they are if we don’t advertise it in huge print,” Draco scoffed.

The rest of breakfast passed with various insults to the decor. Blaise and Draco were terribly concerned about the other schools thinking their tastes ran on the gaudy side, while Pansy kept to her belief that Hogwarts should have at least been consistent in their over-the-top choices—lamenting how the tables and the rest of the walls were conspicuously barren compared to all the banners behind the Head Table.

Theo and Hydrus, meanwhile, couldn’t have cared less about how the school was decorated. Neither boy understood why things needed to look different than they usually did, but weren’t passionate enough about the issue to say anything more. Instead, they, along with Daphne and Tracey, focused their energy on wondering about how the tournament itself worked.

“How do they select the champions anyway?” Daphne had asked between sips of tea. “I know the headmistress said the process was unbiased, but that doesn’t exactly clear things up.”

Tracey shrugged. “No idea. Maybe the judges pick who competes?”

_"Who are the judges?" Hydrus asked._

_"Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," said Theo, and everyone looked around at him, rather surprised, "because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage."_

“Pleasant,” replied Daphne, though she didn’t sound as though he found it pleasant at all.

Theo pursed his lips. “Yes, well, that sort of thing is exactly why no one under seventeen is allowed to enter.”

“Was that the tournament where they decided to never do this again because all three champions died before the third task?” Hydrus casually inquired. He remembered Hermione telling him that had happened at least once, but he couldn’t remember when. A cockatrice rampage sounded like the perfect scenario for killing off everyone competing.

“No,” Theo said, shaking his head. “That was the Tournament of 1798.”

Daphne blinked, shocked and more than a little disgusted. “Really? All three champions died? And we’ve all decided as a society to have another go of it?”

“Wizards aren’t exactly known for their common sense,” Tracey replied with a huff. 

“No,” Daphne begrudgingly agreed. “I suppose we aren’t.”

Due to the excitement of their guests arriving at dinner, none of the students were capable of focusing on their lessons. Hydrus found himself zoning out and staring out the windows at least a dozen times—more worried about the chances of inclement weather somehow hindering the other schools’ arrival than the effect of the caster’s intent on runic combinations. He knew it was important to learn, but did he have to learn it right now when something historic would be happening at dinner? He’d read up on it later when there wasn’t so much excitement going on.

Hydrus was far from the only student affected. Daphne and Tracey were discreetly passing notes to one another all day, Theo and Padma were whispering to each other during Arithmancy about something that definitely wasn’t arithmantic theories, and Ron had rushed over to the Slytherin table during lunch to tell Hydrus and Draco that Trelawney thought his most recent dream journal entries had to do with injuries that would occur during the tournament. Even Hermione wasn’t giving her all during class, electing instead to sneak passages of history books on the tournament instead of the required class readings.

All of the excitement came to a head at dinner. Classes had ended early so that the students could return to their dormitories and make themselves presentable before congregating in the Great Hall for their guests’ six o’clock arrival. There had been a mad rush to get showered and tidied up and put on nicer, cleaner school robes as soon as everyone was freed from their last lesson of the day.

Hydrus and his friends nearly arrived late, and it was all Draco’s fault. He hadn’t been able to decide if he should gel his hair back or wear it in a looser, more natural style. This led to him pacing the boys’ dormitories for nearly twenty minutes before Blaise finally dragged him into a chair and styled his hair for him. A bit of light, malleable product was used so that Draco could have some control over his hair without the crunch of gel. Hydrus didn’t think it looked all that different from usual, but Vince wisely recommended he not let Draco hear him say that.

Once the hair debacle was sorted, the boys rushed to join the rest of Slytherin house in the common room. No one said anything about how close they’d cut it to the pre-arranged departure time, for which Hydrus was grateful. He had no idea how everyone else would react to knowing they’d almost been late because of something so frivolous as hairstyles.

All of Slytherin finally arrived in the Great Hall fifteen minutes before six, followed closely by Hufflepuff. Only the teachers and Ravenclaw had gotten there earlier, while Gryffindor didn’t arrive for another five minutes. Luckily no one was late, or else Hydrus was sure Headmistress McGonagall would have given them the dressing down of a lifetime.

“How do you think they’ll arrive?” Hydrus asked as the entire school waited for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to show up.

“In some absurdly flashy manner, no doubt,” Daphne replied, looking unimpressed. “It’s physically impossible for the older generation to interact with each other and not show off.”

Blaise gestured towards Draco. “Just the older generation? You can’t think of anyone our age who does that?”

“I’m not that bad!” Draco insisted.

Pansy patted him on the shoulder. “Sure you’re not,” she lied through her teeth.

“You literally just had a crisis over your hair ten minutes ago,” Blaise reminded him.

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” Draco said imperiously, though his cheeks had flushed pink with embarrassment. “It’s perfectly normal to fret over how one looks for first impressions.”

Daphne simply arched an incredulous eyebrow and told him, “If you say so, Lucius Junior.”

“The Beauxbatons delegation is arriving now!” Headmistress McGonagall announced, distracting Hydrus and his friends from their petty squabbles. “Look out the windows and into the sky! It appears they’ve decided on flying in.”

Hydrus took the headmistress’ advice and turned his gaze upwards—to see a stampede of massive, flying palomino horses headed towards the castle. Behind them was some sort of large structure that, as Dennis Creevey rather loudly pointed out, looked like a giant golden house. Closer and closer the palominos flew, and finally, as they were just about to land, Hydrus could see that it wasn’t a house they were pulling along at all but a huge carriage. It was lovely and ornate and very round, reminding him of the white carriage in the Disney version of _Cinderella_ that had been transfigured from a pumpkin.

_A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then Hydrus saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage—a shoe the size of a child's sled—followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman he had ever seen in his life. The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped._

_Hydrus had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in his life, and that was Hagrid; he doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow—maybe simply because he was used to Hagrid—this woman (now at the foot of the steps, and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) seemed even more unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers._

“How much do you want to bet that Hagrid invites her to the Yule Ball?” Draco jokingly whispered.

Rather than finding it funny, Pansy looked contemplative. “You know,” she said, eyeing both Hagrid and this giant woman, “that actually might be a good idea. I doubt either of them have ever met anyone the same size as them before. It might be nice for them to get to know each other.”

Draco pursed his lips. “That easn’t meant to be a suggestion.”

“Too bad. I’m going to set them up,” Pansy declared.

Before Draco could argue further, dozens of teenagers in powder blue uniforms followed the giant woman out of the carriage. Each and every one of them looked effortlessly elegant in a way Hydrus knew he’d never be able to achieve. They looked around, a mixture of curiosity and wariness in their eyes, as they entered the Great Hall. And then, after what felt like an awkward amount of time of just standing around, one of the girls took initiative and sat down at the Ravenclaw table—causing all the other Beauxbatons students to do the same.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, Madame Maxine and students of Beauxbatons,” Headmistress McGonagall said kindly.

The giant woman—Madame Maxine—gave her a genial smile. “Thank you so much, Madame McGonagall. I am sure our stay will be lovely.” She took a look around, her eyes lingering on Hagrid for just a moment too long (much to Pansy’s delight), and asked: “Is Karkaroff not here yet?”

“No,” Headmistress McGonagall told her, “but he should be here any moment now.”

Madame Maxine didn’t look particularly happy to hear that for some reason. “I suppose we can wait for him. Still, I would prefer to have my abraxans taken care of.”

“I’m sure our Care of Magical Creatures professor—Rubeus Hagrid—would be happy to do so,” the headmistress assured her, gesturing towards Hagrid, who smiled and waved awkwardly.

“They require forceful handling, Professor Hagrid,” Madame Maxine said, “but I’m sure you are capable of this.”

Pansy wriggled her eyebrows, and both Draco and Hydrus rolled their eyes.

“Absolutely,” Hagrid agreed with a grin. “Lovely creatures, abraxans. Proud and sturdy.”

As Madame Maxine and Hagrid continued to discuss the details of the abraxans’ care, the students returned their gaze to the sky in anticipation of Durmstrang’s arrival. For several long minutes, there was little chatter until finally—

A strange gurgling noise sounded off in the direction of the Black Lake. _Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks—and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor..._

“How do you think the Giant Squid feels about all of this?” Theo whispered loudly.

Greg grimaced. “I can’t imagine he’d be happy about it.”

_Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank._

_People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them, Hydrus noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Vince and Greg… but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, he saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair._

“Ah, Headmistress McGonagall!” shouted the man. “How nice to see you again!”

“I’m sure,” the headmistress said tightly, making Hydrus wonder what the history was there. “How are you, Karkaroff?”

“Splendid, splendid!” He grinned, yellowed teeth on prominent display and a coldness in his eyes. “Ah, and Severus too.” His voice faltered as he was stared down by Professor Prince. “I didn’t realize you still taught at Hogwarts.”

“Indeed, Igor,” Professor Prince replied sharply, sneering at the Durmstrang headmaster.

Hydrus glanced up at the Head Table to see that none of the teachers looked happy to see Karkaroff, with Professor Prince and Father looking the most annoyed of all.

Noticing his cousin’s confusion, Draco explained: “Karkaroff was a traitor to the Dark Lord in the last war. Rumor has it he even gave a bunch of fake testimony to put away Dark affiliated witches and wizards who hadn’t done anything wrong—including your parents and Professor Prince.”

Red, hot anger coursed through Hydrus. No wonder all the teachers seemed to hate Karkaroff so much. Hydrus hated him too now that he knew the truth.

“A bit idiotic of him to show his face here,” Hydrus practically growled.

“Maybe your dad will kill him at the end of the tournament,” Theo said with just a bit too much glee.

Pansy nodded. “Oh, I hope so. Or maybe Karkaroff can be hunted for sport as part of the third task.”

Hydrus could all too easily picture three angry teenagers chasing Karkaroff around the stadium with various weapons as they tried to claim first blood.

Belatedly, Hydrus noticed a young man trailing not far behind Karkaroff. Something about his face was familiar, like Hydrus had met him once before or had seen him at event. He couldn’t figure out where he’d seen him, though, or how he would’ve known any of the students from Durmstrang. The only young wizards he’d ever met before were Hogwarts students.

“Ah, yes,” Karkaroff said in an oily voice as he put his arm around the student. “McGonagall, may we get settled in? Viktor here has a bit of a head cold, and I’d hate for him to suffer longer than necessary.”

Viktor didn’t seem pleased with the attention or with Karkaroff touching him, and tried to not so subtly get out of his headmaster’s grasp.

“Ugh,” Draco groaned. “Hydrus, that’s… that’s Viktor Krum.”


	12. The Goblet of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time for the champions to be chosen, babey!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. italics are yoinked from canon

Draco may have been the first to quietly point out the student’s identity, but he was far from the only one to notice. Soon enough, the Great Hall was filled with whispers and hushed praises as the students began pointing to Viktor Krum.

“Isn’t that the Bulgarian seeker?”

“He caught the snitch at the World Cup!”

“Do you think he’ll be the Durmstrang champion?”

“I hope he wins!”

While Karkaroff seemed to be basking in the attention by association he was receiving, Krum just looked like his usual miserable self. He was either very good at ignoring fans, or he was much sicker than his headmaster had claimed. Regardless, it was quite obvious to Hydrus that Krum would rather be anywhere but stuck in front of the entire Great Hall for everyone to gawk at.

Hydrus could relate to Krum’s dislike of attention all too well. He’d received more than his fair share of it as the Boy Who Lived, the son of the Dark Lord, the heir of Slytherin, and a relative of four people who’d been wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban. He might not have all of Wizarding Britain obsessed with him anymore, but those few years of his name bouncing between fame and infamy had taught him that being in the public eye was an absolute nightmare.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Draco muttered to himself. “He’s just a quidditch player.”

Hydrus arched a skeptical eyebrow at his cousin. He knew Draco had decided to start hating Krum for some reason over the summer that vaguely had to do with Ron, but wasn’t calling him “just a quidditch player” taking it a bit far? Krum was the best in the pro league, and while Hydrus wasn’t about to bend over backwards to fawn over the Bulgarian seeker, he could somewhat understand why so many wanted to get a better look at him.

“You’re just saying that because Ron fancies him and you fancy Ron,” Pansy said with a smirk.

Draco glared at her. “Shut up, Pansy.”

The lack of denial combined with what little he’d figured out himself made Hydrus wonder if Pansy’s comment was indeed at least somewhat accurate. Draco was used to getting his way but wasn’t at all experienced with relationships. If he thought Krum being around would somehow ruin his chances with Ron, then of course he’d be inclined to hate the older teen’s guts.

“Why would anyone fancy him?” Daphne asked, scrunching her nose in distaste. “He comes off as rather brutish and isn’t particularly handsome.”

Tracey shrugged. “Maybe they’re after the fame and money.”

“I can’t see Ron caring much about that in a partner,” Blaise said with a frown.

“Maybe he just likes ugly guys,” Millicent suggested. “He wouldn’t be the first wizard with bad taste.”

The fourth year students’ speculation did nothing to improve Draco’s bad mood. If anything, he looked even angrier than before they’d starting throwing out their theories.

“Uh-oh, boys,” Pansy drawled, nodding her head in the direction of the cluster of Durmstrang students. “Looks like we’re about to have company.”

Slowly but surely, the Durmstrang students took up whatever empty space they could find at the Slytherin table. There was plenty of room for everyone even with how much space their huge, fluffy coats took up, but it felt a bit strange to be packed in so close together. Their guests didn’t speak much, and most hadn’t so much as said hello. Given the way most of the school was staring at them in search of Viktor Krum, though, Hydrus could honestly say he didn’t blame their disinterest in talking to anyone. It must be terribly annoying to constantly be in the shadow of your classmate.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen—friends and new faces,” Headmistress McGonagall announced from the Head Table. “Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and welcome to the newly reinstated Triwizard Tournament. On behalf of Hogwarts, I wish you a wonderful stay and hope this event helps to foster international relations between our students and our schools. The tournament will officially begin after the feast, so for now, let us indulge in this lovely meal.”

Large golden platters materialized on the tables, piled high with a wide variety of delicious smelling dishes. Most of it was traditional English fare—bangers and mash, mince pies, and the like—but a good bit was entirely unfamiliar to Hydrus as well. He supposed those must be dishes from the countries represented by the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. They smelled great, but Hydrus was a bit hesitant to try them simply because he had no idea what they were. What if he put a bunch of it on his plate only to realize he hated it? He didn’t want to come across as rude or wasteful for doing something like that.

_"What's that?" said Vince, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding._

_"Bouillabaisse," said Daphne._

_"Bless you," said Vince._

_"It's French," said Daphne, "I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice."_

_"I'll take your word for it," said Greg, helping himself to black pudding._

Hydrus was suddenly very glad he’d decided against getting too adventurous with his dinner choices. As nice as the bouillabaisse smelled, he didn’t care for shellfish nearly enough to enjoy it. He’d probably have taken one bite and struggled not to spit it right back out onto the table.

“I’ll try it,” Theo decided as ladled a bit of the bouillabaisse onto his plate. “I like mussels well enough, so it might just be my sort of thing.”

Hydrus happily pushed the bouillabaisse closer to Theo as soon as it became clear that his friend did indeed like the stuff. He was glad to see it wouldn’t go to waste.

The smell of fried potatoes caught Hydrus’ attention as Draco brought over some potato pancakes from where the fifth years had congregated. “The Durmstrang students called them latkes,” Draco explained as he reluctantly shared some with his cousin. “They also got into a fight over whether you’re meant to eat them with sour cream or applesauce. I thought wands were about to be drawn…”

“I guess we’ll just have to try both ways before we decide which is better,” Hydrus suggested as he scooped a bit of both the sour cream and the applesauce onto his plate. He’d gladly eat more of these latkes in the name of “research”.

“Sour cream makes more sense if you ask me,” Draco said as he dipped his potato-ladden fork into a dollop of sour cream. “But Anthony Goldstein has mentioned latkes before, and I’m pretty sure he said he prefers the applesauce.”

“Probably because he’s lactose intolerant,” Pansy brought up.

Hydrus raised a curious eyebrow. “How on earth do you know that?” he asked her. “And why would you need to?”

“Because Parvati used to fancy him, and she asked Padma to get as much information on him as possible, and then Padma complained about it all to me,” Pansy said, acting as though that explained everything.

“Do…” Theo pursed his lips, unsure of exactly what to say, “do girls actually care about whether or not the boys they fancy can drink milk?”

Pansy shrugged. “I don’t, but I guess it depends on the girl.”

“I think it only mattered because Parvati is _also_ lactose intolerant,” Tracey added thoughtfully.

“I’ll never understand girls,” Draco said, shaking his head.

Pansy reached over the table to pat him on the shoulder. “We’ve all realized that by now.”

In lieu of response, Draco stuck out his tongue at her.

“Very mature, Draco. Very mature.”

The rest of dinner was a boisterous affair. Hydrus and his friends laughed at some of other students’ speculations about who would be champion for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, occasionally positing their own theories. It seemed to be a unanimous conclusion amongst the Slytherins that Viktor Krum would represent Durmstrang, though a few were hopeful that the very, very buff brunette witch sitting next to him would have that honor. She looked as though she could break a watermelon between her thighs, and in all honesty, Hydrus was leaning towards her being the champion right alongside Draco and Theo.

Things started to die down as the main course of the feast began vanishing in preparation of dessert, but the lull in excitement didn’t last for long.

“Look who’s just arrived!” Tracey exclaimed, pointing wildly towards the doors. “They must be the other judges!”

Hydrus turned to see two very familiar faces—one that made him smile and one he could have gone without ever seeing again. Percy Prewett-Weasley looked every bit the part of a former Slytherin Head Boy and current young lord with his forest green robes, tortoise-shell glasses, and a genial smile. He waved and said his hellos to his former classmates even as he strutted on over to the Head Table with his usual air of self-importance.

The other person, unfortunately, was Ludo Bagman. There was something a bit odd about him, especially the way his one eye kept twitching. He didn’t look quite as bad as when Hydrus had seen him after the World Cup, but he wasn’t looking all that much better either.

Blaise eyed up Percy as if he was trying to analyze the redhead’s very soul. “I’d heard Prewett was with the Department of International Magical Cooperation now,” he drawled, “but I’m surprised they’d such a junior member of their department to oversee the tournament—even if he is a lord now.”

“Maybe no one else wanted to do it,” Theo suggested with a shrug.

“Or they might’ve sent him _because_ he’s so new,” Draco posited. “Think about it—he’s probably got the least amount of important stuff going on in his schedule compared to the rest of his department. That’s who I’d send to go out and do something as frivolous as judging a competition.”

“Maybe for a regular competition,” Blaise begrudgingly conceded, “but not for the Triwizard Tournament. You’d want to show off your best, most diplomatic employee for that.”

Hydrus arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Who else would they send? Bertha Jorkins? She may have taken over when Crouch Sr. was Kissed, but apparently she’s got the mind of sieve.” At least that’s what Barty had claimed between bursts of laughter when he learned who replaced his dear old dead dad.

“Father says the same thing about her,” Draco agreed. “Rumor has it Percy does half her job for her anyway, so he might as well be here in her stead.”

“Besides,” added Pansy, slinging her arm over Blaise’s shoulders, “he’s still a hell of a lot better than Ludo Bagman.”

The appearance of dessert quickly distracted the teens from any and all conversation. Creme brulee, chocolate cake, treacle tart, and kolacky covered the table—only to be quickly scooped up and put on the students’ plates. Hydrus didn’t recognize everything, but unlike with the entrees, he was much more interested in trying everything. After all, dessert was dessert. He couldn’t imagine disliking anything sweet.

Once the desserts were gobbled up and the students’ stomachs were comfortably full, Headmistress McGonagall once again stood to address the crowd. “The time has now come for the Triwizard Tournament to begin. While we wait for Mr. Filch to bring out our method of selecting champions, allow me to introduce you to the rest of the panel of judges.” Gesturing towards Percy, she announced: “Representing the Department of International Cooperation is your former classmate and last year’s Head Boy—Lord Percy Prewett-Weasley.”

Most of the students clapped politely at the mention of Percy’s name, having remembered him and his bright but somewhat smug demeanor from the previous seven years. The Slytherins and youngest four Weasleys, however, went absolutely wild. Even those in the house of snakes who hadn’t particularly liked him cheered their former housemate on with raucous enthusiasm.

“And from representing the Department of Magical Games and Sports,” Headmistress McGonagall continued, cutting through the slowly dying cheers, “is former pro beater Ludo Bagman.”

Plenty of people clapped excitedly for Bagman because of his fame, but the applause wasn’t quite as loud for him as it was for Percy. He tried to be a good sport about it, but Hydrus could sense the disappointment radiating from the former quidditch player.

“Lord Prewett and Mr. Bagman have coordinated with international governments and the Boards of both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang in order to make this tournament available,” said McGonagall. “I daresay you’ll see them quite a bit over the next few months. But for now, let’s get to our method of choosing the champions.”

_Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached McGonagall carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; One of the first years actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rose above anyone else's._

_"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," said McGonagall as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before them, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways.. their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."_

_At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing._

_"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," McGonagall went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."_

As if on cue, the wooden chest fell open like a flower in bloom, revealing a large silver cup. It didn’t look like anything special—at least not at first—but with a single tap of her wand, the headmistress ignited a roaring white-blue fire inside of it. There was something oddly hypnotic about the flames, almost as if they were trying to draw in everyone who saw them.

“Anyone who wishes to enter the Triwizard Tournament need only submit a slip of paper with their signature on it,” Headmistress McGonagall explained. “As the goblet has historically been used as an impartial third party in all manner of magically binding contracts, it contains innate protections against the admittance of underage witches and wizards. No one under the age of seventeen will be able to enter. But, for the sake of deterring those who will no doubt try anyway—” her gaze turned to the Weasley twins “—an age line will be added around the perimeter to prevent those too young from trying to put their name in the goblet.

_"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."_

As Hydrus followed his housemates out of the Great Hall and into Slytherin territory, he couldn’t help but notice something strange out of the corner of his eye. Karkaroff, the Durmstrang headmaster, wouldn’t stop staring at him. It wasn’t the sort of stare he used to get when people saw him as the Boy Who Lived either. There was something dangerous about the look in Karkaroff’s eyes, and Hydrus didn’t trust it one bit.

*****

The following day was a Saturday, which meant there were no classes or any other obligations to get in the way of watching the seventeen year old students put their names in the Goblet of Fire. Students had taken to sitting in groups at the fronts of the house tables so they could cheer on their fellow schoolmates whenever the goblets swallowed their names in its pale blue flames. Some lingered after their friends’ names were put in so that they could get a glimpse of the potential competition. And all the while, Fred and George Weasley sat at the front of the Ravenclaw table—blatantly ignoring Headmistress McGonagall’s warning against their betting pool.

“Who will be the Hogwarts champion?” George called out, eliciting the attention of everyone in the Great Hall.

“Last chance to put galleons down on your preferred choice!” Fred announced.

Hermione rolled her eyes at their antics. “Good luck talking yourselves out of this one,” she teased them. “I’ll bet the headmistress sets Filch on you over this.”

“You’ll bet it, huh?” Fred asked, wriggling his eyebrows.

George shoved the betting charts in front of her. “How much are you willing to put down for that?”

Hydrus couldn’t help but laugh at his sister’s affronted demeanor. She’d walked straight into that one.

Hermione crossed her arms and stuck her nose up at the list of bets. “I’ll do no such thing. I’m not stupid enough to risk detention over such frivousness.”

“I am!” Lee Jordan said gleefully, grabbing the parchment from George’s hands and penning down his name. “Three galleons on Albert Sinclair.”

Fred arched an incredulous eyebrow. “You sure about that, mate?”

“He’s the only Gryffindor with half a chance of being chosen,” Lee resolutely declared.

Hydrus had never before heard of anyone called Albert Sinclair, but he supposed Sinclair must’ve been one of those Gryffindor upper years that all seemed to blend together in his mind. None of them seemed particularly remarkable, at least not to him. He wondered what it was about Sinclair specifically that made Lee think he stood out from the other faceless older teens in red and gold.

“It’s a shame Angelina won’t be seventeen until next week,” said George. “If anyone from Gryffindor had a chance of being Hogwarts champion, it’s her.”

Lee nodded vigorously. “Definitely. If she’d been able to enter her name, I’d have probably bet my whole life savings on her being chosen. Granted, that’s not a whole lot since I’ve never had a job, but still.”

“Yeah, she would’ve been great,” Hydrus agreed. He may have been swayed by the arguments that Fred and George would’ve had the best chance out of all the sixth years had they been old enough, but Angelina Johnson was a close third as far as he was concerned.

Fred cocked his head to the side, curious. “What, aren’t you rooting for Warrington like all the other Slytherins?”

Hydrus shrugged. “I’d prefer Warrington over any of the other Hogwarts students who’ve entered, but there’s plenty of sixteen year old students who would’ve made for a better champion than him.”

“I’d still pick him over Cedric Diggory,” said Lee.

“Well, yeah,” agreed George. “Who wouldn’t?”

Things in the Great Hall calmed down a bit after that, though it was more to do with the Weasley twins trying to avoid getting caught by the professors than anything else. They’d nearly gotten busted by Madame Maxine and the Beauxbatons delegation, but luckily, they all seemed to think that the betting pool was just another part of the pomp and circumstance around the tournament. Three of them had even hung around for a few minutes to discreetly place bets on who their school’s champion would be—waiting impatiently for their headmistress to leave the Great Hall before putting down their gold.

Getting a bit bored of simply watching people put slips of parchment into the Goblet of Fire, Hydrus and Hermione decided to go grab Ron from the Hufflepuff dormitories and visit Hagrid. They hadn’t seen him very often over the past two years because he’d been so busy with catching up on his studies and apprenticing under the now retired Professor Kettleburn, but he now had enough free time in his schedule to have them over for tea like he’d done during their first year.

To say that Hagrid had changed since his expulsion was overturned was an understatement. Gone was the gullible groundskeeper who seemed to believe he owed everything in his life to Albus Dumbledore. He was still endlessly kind and a bit naive at times—and still loved dangerous creatures a little too much—but finishing his education had helped him gain a level of confidence that Hydrus had never seen in the half-giant before. He stood just a bit straighter, spoke with certainty, and had not so accidentally created a certain image for himself with his practical dragonhide gear and a sturdy mahogany staff he used in lieu of a wand.

“Ollivander thought a staff would be more practical,” Hagrid had explained when students first started asking about it. “Said it was a better fit for someone who worked outside with animals all day. Personally, I think his wands being a bit too small for my hands might’ve had something to do with it as well.”

As the teens approached Hagrid’s much improved home (no one would ever call it a hut again), they saw a makeshift paddock housing the dozen massive abraxans that had brought the Beauxbatons students to Hogwarts. They were even more beautiful and more gigantic up close, and Hydrus could hardly resist the urge to reach out and touch them.

“I wouldn’t get too close if I were you,” Hagrid warned him just in time. “This lot’s all got the temperament of hippogriffs and the vanity of peacocks.”

Hydrus quickly put his hands deep in his pockets so as not to tempt fate.

“Hello, Professor Hagrid!” Ron called out, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you plan on doing any impromptu lessons on abraxans for us Care of Magical Creatures students anytime soon? You never know when you’ll get another chance to show them to us in person.”

Hydrus was pretty sure Ron only asked because he hated the fire crabs he was currently learning about, but he wisely said nothing.

“You know, I just might,” Hagrid decided. “Feels like half the school’s already come down here to ask about them.”

“I’m sure Madame Maxine would let you if you asked,” Hydrus said encouragingly.

Hagrid’s cheeks flushed at the mention of the Beauxbatons headmistress. “You’re probably right about that, Hydrus. She’s a pretty agreeable woman, Olympe. I bet she’d be more than happy to let me give a lesson on her abraxans.”

Ron mouthed ‘Olympe?’, which caused Hermione to roll her eyes at him.

“Anyway,” Hagrid continued, completely missing the teens’ antics, “why don’t you three come in for a spot of lunch? I reckon we’ve got plenty of catching up to do.”

It turned out that there was indeed a lot for the four of them to catch up on with each other. Hydrus and Hermione had gotten decent secondhand information from Ron, Dade, and all their other friends who took Care of Magical creatures, but it wasn’t quite the same as hearing it from themselves. Beyond finishing his education and becoming a professor, Hagrid had also branched out beyond the the ground of Hogwarts and had gotten himself registered as a certified creature rehabilitator. He could now take in and nurse dangerous creatures back to health whenever rescues and preservations found creatures in need of extra attention. In fact, he had one with him right now.

“The Aurors found a bunch of mistreated snakes when they busted that underground love potions operation,” Hagrid explained as he coaxed an injured ashwinder onto his arm. “Most them went to rescues, but this little guy needed some one-on-one care.”

Ron paled a bit at the sight of the venomous snake, but Hydrus and Hermione leaned forward to get a better look.

“He looks like he’s healing well,’ Hermione told him. “And he definitely likes you.”

Hagrid beamed. “That’s what your father said, too. I went right to him first thing so he could have a chat with our ashwinder friend and let me know exactly what’s ailing him.”

They kept on talking about snakes and animal rescue and Hydrus and Hermione’s father (“Marvolo’s a great man, but you Riddles—or should I say Gaunts?—all are”) until it was late in the afternoon and the sun had begun to set. As soon as Hagrid realized how late it was getting, he offered to escort the three teens back up to the castle for the feast. And so, the four of them trekked back up the hill and into the Great Hall before splitting up to go to their separate tables.

The Beauxbatons students arrived not long after Hydrus and his friends, and just like yesterday, they took their seats at the Ravenclaw table. Madame Maxine, meanwhile, snagged an empty seat next to Hagrid before anyone else had the chance to sit down. Hydrus didn’t know what they were talking about, but based on their flushed cheeks, it was probably about more than just the tournament or abraxans.

Durmstrang joined everyone in the Great Hall not long after. Just like their Beauxbatons counterparts, they all congregated at the same table as they had the night before—Slytherin. However, one face was conspicuously absent from the group.

“Where’s Karkaorff?” Hydrus asked his fellow fourth year Slytherins. “Shouldn’t he be going up to the Head Table with the teachers and the other judges?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Pansy replied in a low, conspiratorial whisper. “He was arrested by the Aurors this afternoon. Something about trying to tamper with Goblet of Fire so that it would accept someone underage.”

Hydrus’ eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Why on earth would Karkaroff want to do that? Krum was a shoe-in for Durmstrang champion, and there was no doubt he’d do well. Entering a minor instead sounded counter-productive to their school winning.

“That’s bizarre,” was all he could think to say.

Pansy shrugged. “I’m sure the _Prophet_ will get ahold of his motives soon enough.”

_The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, Hydrus didn't seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as he would have normally. Like everyone else in the Hall—judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether McGonagall had finished eating yet—Hydrus simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions._

After what felt like an eternity, the platters finally cleared. Every single student in the Great Hall immediately turned their attention to Headmistress McGonagall, who stood regally from her seat and approached the Goblet of Fire.

“The twenty-four hour time limit has nearly passed,” the headmistress informed everyone. “I must take these last few minutes to ask you hold off your cheering until all three champions are chosen. I’m sure none of you would appreciate it if the name of your school’s representative by another school’s cheering.

“Champions, you may stand when your name is called, but please wait until all three champions are selected before meeting Ludo Bagman and Lord Prewett in the antechamber,” Headmistress McGonagall continued. “They will give you instructions and clues to help you prepare for your first task.”

The white-blue flames of the goblet flared brighter than ever before, and the whole Great Hall fell deathly silent in anticipation. Everyone waited with baited breath until—

A piece of parchment shot up into Headmistress McGonagall’s hand. She unfolded it declared: “The Durmstrang champion is Viktor Krum!’

Viktor Krum stood from his spot with the upper year Slytherins and gave a sharp, short nod to the rest of the Great Hall. A bit of cheering broke out, but it quickly stopped when everyone remembered McGonagall’s earlier warning.

A second piece of parchment flew from the goblet. “The Beauxbatons champion,” the headmistress announced, “is Fleur Delacour.”

A slender, statuesque young woman with silvery blonde hair got up from the Ravenclaw table and, with great flourish, bowed deeply.

“And finally,” said Headmistress McGonagall as the third and final slip of parchment flew into his hand, “the Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!”

While Diggory got up from the Hufflepuff table and bowed, the Goblet of Fire went out with a puff of pale smoke. The students clapped and cheered for the three champions, and even though most of the younger Slytherins weren’t particularly happy that Diggory was chosen over Warrington, they silently vowed to support him over Krum and Delacour. After all, he was the one and only Hogwarts champion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the applesauce vs. sour cream debate is actually a way bigger deal than i've portrayed here


	13. Karkaroff's Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the trial of igor karkaroff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. shorter chapter bc i am not even remotely good at writing courtroom stuff

When Nymphadora Tonks—who refused to be called by her full first name, thank you very much—was first moved from field work to magical forensics, she hadn’t expected it to be nearly as exciting as it was. After all, working in a lab all day wasn’t nearly as flashy as chasing down criminals. At least she hadn’t thought it would be. But the very first time she successfully identified the magical signature of a previously unknown criminal, she knew this was exactly where she was meant to be.

Now, more than a year since she’d be transferred, Tonks could hardly remember why she’d ever wanted to work in the field. She was far happier analyzing magical residue, testing blood samples for traces of potions and poisons, and reconstructing crime scenes than doing traditional detective work. She even got to testify at trials as an _expert witness_ from time to time because she was that good at her job.

Today was one such day. Former Death Eater and total scumbag (not related to the whole Death Eater thing) Igor Karkaroff had been brought in on Halloween after an alarm set up around the Goblet of Fire went off. Headmistress McGonagall had caught him red-handed trying to put the name of an underage student in the goblet. She’d personally kept him subdued until the Aurors were able to arrive and arrest him for attempted fraud at the very minimum.

The day after Hogwarts no longer needed it, the Goblet of Fire was sent to Tonks’ desk to be tested for signs of magical tampering. What she’d found had been staggering. A magical signature matching Karkaroff’s had attempted to cast first the Confundus Charm and then the Imperius Curse on the goblet. Neither had quite worked due to the goblet not actually being sentient, but he’d still be going down for unauthorized use of an Unforgivable in addition to the fraud charges.

Tonks had quickly given a copy of her results to her former Auror partner and lead investigator Kingsley, who had told her that it matched what their investigation had pieced together of Karkaroff’s plot.

“He’s still refusing to say exactly what the purpose of his plot is and whether or not anyone else was in on it,” Kingsley had confided in her. “But if you ask me, there’s no way he was working on his own. He had no connection to the kid he was trying to force into competing.”

Unable to hide her curiosity, Tonks asked: “Who was the kid anyway?”

“Hydrus Gaunt-Lestrange.”

Tonks didn’t sleep well for two nights after that. What in the world did the headmaster of a foreign school want with her little cousin? Why try to make him compete in the Triwizard Tournament? He was just a kid. He’d never done a single thing to deserve being pulled into whatever bizarre plot Karkaroff and his possible co-conspirators had planned.

Even more concerning was the possibility that there were others walking free who wanted to bring harm to Hydrus. Kingsley was right. There was no connection between Karkaroff and Hydrus, not unless one counted that Hydrus’ parents shared the Dark Mark in common with the Durmstrang headmaster. Tonks certainly didn’t count it. There had to be at least a dozen other students at Hogwarts whose relative bore the Dark Mark. Why go after Hydrus specifically? And would his twin sister Hermione be a target as well? Tonks had a feeling that the worst case scenarios in her head were the most likely explanations.

Today would be the moment of truth—the day of Karkaroff’s trial. Tonks and the rest of wizarding Britain would finally get the answers they so desperately craved. And Tonks would have a front row seat as the forensics expert who proved it was Karkaroff who had tried to bewitch the Goblet of Fire.

It was with great focus and determination that Tonks prepared for the trial. She spent previous night poring over her case notes, practicing her delivery for the answers to questions she knew she’d be asked, and going over professional looks in the mirror since pink hair was unfortunately not acceptable in the eyes of the Wizengamot. By the time she entered the courtroom, she was reasonably calm, dressed in formal robes her mother would be proud of, and had reverted to what she was pretty sure was her natural appearance—her mother’s wavy brown hair and her father’s hazel eyes. So long as she could look and act like a real adult for the entirety of her time on the stand, everything would be fine.

“You ready?” Kingsley asked her as they waited for the courtroom to open up for the day’s proceedings.

Tonks looked at his scarlet Auror robes and felt just a bit jealous that she no longer had an official uniform to make her look important like he did. It would be so much easier to have a predetermined look instead of fishing through her wardrobe for clothes that were acceptable for a proper lady of standing… or whatever it was the Wizengamot expected a half-blood scion of the Black family to be.

“As ready as I always am, Kings,” she replied easily. “All I have to do is sound smart like all the scientists on _Law and Order_ , and everything will be fine.”

Kingsley cocked his head to the side. “ _Law and Order_?”

“Muggle detective show,” she explained.

“They put their investigations on their televisions?”

Tonks tried and failed not to snort at her pureblood colleague’s confusion. “No, at least not like how you’re imagining. Sometimes they put big trials on the news, but that’s about it. _Law and Order_ ’s all fiction. It’s really interesting though because they discuss some of the cooler methods of crime solving they’ve got. For instance, they’ve apparently figured out how to use fingerprints and blood the way we use magical signatures in identifying suspects.”

“That sounds fascinating, if a bit risky,” Kingsley said earnestly. “I wonder how they can track blood like that when they can’t do ritual magic…”

Tonks just shrugged. It was much easier to let Kingsley think whatever it was he had going on in his head than try to explain the concept of blood-typing technology. After all, it wasn’t like she’d be able to do it justice anyway. She only had the limited understanding of it that she’d gotten from watching crime shows.

Once the courtroom opened up and Chief Warlock Greengrass called for the accused to be brought in, all of Tonks’ previous calm dissipated into a deep desire for vengeance. Her little cousin had already had such a rough start to his life. That someone would try to cause him even more harm made her blood boil. Karkaroff would get what was coming to him even if Tonks had to go after him herself.

Tonks had thought Barty was exaggerating the creep factor in his false accusor’s demeanor, but Karkaroff came off just as creepy and disgusting as Barty had described. It wasn’t necessarily his looks that were off-putting, though. Rather, there was something desperate and sneaky and borderline malicious lurking in the depths of his tiny, dark eyes. He definitely had the eyes of someone who’d put four people in Azkaban for a crime they didn’t commit just to avoid going to Azkaban himself.

“Igor Karkaroff,” stated the prosecutor—a stern, gray haired wizard by the name of Aurelius Addams, “you are charged with attempted endangerment of an underage wizard, attempted creation of a fraudulent contract involving an underage wizard, and knowingly casting the Unforgivable known as the Imperius Curse on a semi-sentient artefact. How do you plead?”

Karkaroff leaned forward. “Not guilty by reason of undue influence through bewitchment.” 

Tonks suppressed a derisive snort. Of course someone who’d lied on the stand during the Death Eater trials to save his own skin would claim the Imperius Curse defense this time around. It was clear he’d do and say just about anything to escape consequences for his own actions.

Prosecutor Addams looked just as unimpressed as Tonks felt. “Are you suggesting your actions were not your own? That you were acting under the influence of compulsions, curses, or potions that restricted or otherwise overrode your free will?”

“I am,” Karkaroff eagerly agreed.

“I see,” Addams drawled in a voice that made it all to clear that he did not in fact see it at all. “And would you be willing to swear to that under Veritaserum?”

Karkaroff paled. “Well I—”

“Objection!” shouted the defense attorney, a younger wizard by the name of Theseus Wellington. “Veritaserum is _not_ required for questioning a witness unless sufficient evidence of its need has been ruled upon.”

Chief Warlock Greengrass banged his gavel. “Overruled. While you are correct, Wellington, Addams asked for—not demanded—administering Veritaserum. There’s no reason for your objection.”

Wellington had the decency to look embarrassed. “Of course, Your Honor.”

“You may continue,” Chief Warlock Greengrass said with a nod to Addams.

“Thank you, Chief Warlock,” replied Addams. “I would like to first call Minerva McGonagall—witness and headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—to the stand for questioning.”

Headmistress McGonagall took the stand as request and explained in detail the precautions that had been taken to prevent underage students from entering their names into the Goblet of Fire. The goblet itself had its own enchantments to prevent anyone under the age of seventeen from being chosen, but she and the other teachers had added additional enchantments and wards to deter underage students from trying to enter. One of the wards would also set off an alarm in her office should someone of age try to enter a younger student’s name.

It was this ward in particular that had been tripped when McGonagall rushed to the Great Hall to investigate. Upon arrival, she had seen Karkaroff effectively held captive by the goblet’s own enchantments. She’d stunned the Durmstrang headmaster, cast an _Incarcerous_ on him, and promptly called the Aurors—who took care of everything from there.

“No questions, Your Honor,” Addams told the Chief Warlock once Headmistress McGonagall was finished telling her story.

Wellington asked a few questions in the hopes of poking holes in her story, but after it became clear that her answers only proved to be more and more damning for his client, quickly ceded the floor.

Kingsley and Dawlish—the two Aurors who’d arrived on the scene and took over the investigation—were questioned next. Their parts of the story picked up where McGonagall’s left off. They’d arrested the tied-up Karkaroff, searched him, found the scrap of parchment with Hydrus’ name (which appeared to have been ripped off one of his assignments), and questioned him. Karkaroff had refused to speak without a lawyer, and so one was provided for him. The two had talked in private for more than an hour before Karkaroff began claiming he’d been bewitched and wasn’t responsible for his actions.

Wellington had tried to make it look like the Aurors were biased against the bewitchment defense due to their insinuation that Karkaroff hadn’t said a thing about it until after he’d gotten a lawyer, but in the end, it didn’t matter either way. Whether or not the Aurors believed his claims had absolutely no bearing on the proceedings.

Finally, it was Tonks’ turn to take the stand. She explained the methodology behind testing objects for spell residue and how magical signatures are traced. She did her best to keep it simple so that everyone could understand, but both Addams and Wellington had asked a few questions for clarification. All in all, she thought she’d done a pretty good job. 

Wellington didn’t seem to agree.

“Ms. Tonks,” he’d said in an imperious ton, “you mentioned earlier that the magical signature you’d gotten from the Goblet of Fire was only a 98% match to Igor Karkaroff. Is it possible that, if other wizards’ magic were tested, you would find a 100% match among them?”

Tonks struggled not to roll her eyes. “Yes, I did say it was a 98% match,” she conceded. “But as I said at the time, there is never a perfect match when dealing with enchanted artefacts due to the slight variation from their own imbued magics.”

“But is it possible that a closer match might be out there?” Wellington repeated.

“The chance of anyone else having committed this crime would be approximately one in six and a half billion,” Tonks replied a bit maliciously. “Considering there’s only about ten million wizards in the entire world, I’d say the chance of it being anyone else is nigh impossible.”

Wellington’s lips pressed into a thin, pale line. “No further questions.”

A familiar sense of relief flooded through Tonks as she got off the stand. She’d left no room for doubt that it was Karkaroff who bewitched the Goblet of Fire. And even though Karkaroff was claiming that he had indeed done it but was under compulsions at the time—effectively admitting guilt while refusing to take responsibility—Tonks knew her testimony would be all the more damning once his defense fell apart later on in the trial.

After Tonks’ testimony was that of a healer called Barton who’d tested Karkaroff for signs of compulsions and potions, both of which had come up negative. As great as that sounded for the prosecution, the tests Healer Barton used were notoriously ambiguous due to how quickly certain forms of foreign magic could disappear from one’s system. At best, he could only claim that he had consumed no potions in forty-eight hours and hadn’t had a spell cast on him in at least four at the time the tests were administered.

It was this uncertainty that Wellington and Karkaroff had clung to, but it proved to be a double-edged sword. Addams called for the use of Veritaserum in order to clear things up, which Chief Warlock Greengrass readily agreed to. It was finally time for the moment of truth.

“State your full name for the record,” said Addams once the Veritaserum was dropped onto Karkaroff’s tongue.

“Igor Mikhailovich Karkaroff,” came the Durmstrang headmaster’s emotionless reply.

“Date of birth?”

“June twelfth of 1953.”

Addams gave a terse nod. “Let the record show that the Veritaserum is in effect.”

Neither Karkaroff nor Wellington look particularly pleased about that fact.

“Did you attempt to bewitch the Goblet of Fire?” asked Addams.

“Yes.”

Tonks nodded along. This had all been established beyond a reasonable doubt due to the frankly overwhelming amount of evidence, but hearing the accused admit to their crimes was always a plus. After all, some of the older crowd on the Wizengamot were still more easily swayed by confessions than evidence. Addams was working up to sealing the deal for them.

There was a feral glint in Addams’ eyes. “Was it your idea to bewitch the Goblet?”

“No.”

Gasps could be heard throughout the courtroom. Some must have believed this to be the proof that Karkaroff had been under the influence of compulsions. Tonks, however, wasn’t so easily convinced.

“Whose idea was it?” Addams inquired.

Karkaroff grit his teeth in a futile attempt to keep the words from coming out. “Gellert Grindelwald.”

All hell broke loose.


	14. The First Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you're all aware of what the first task is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter.  
> 2\. italics yoinked from canon.

**KARKAROFF FOUND GUILTY IN TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT PLOT**

**WORKING ON GRINDELWALD’S ORDERS**

No matter Hydrus went, he couldn’t escape the most recent _Daily Prophet_ headline. The news of Karkaroff’s guilty plea—as well as all the trial details that had led to it—had taken the Wizarding World by storm. Karkaroff had admitted under Veritaserum to knowingly and willfully carrying out orders on behalf of Gellert Grindelwald to enter Hydrus in the Triwizard Tournament. He hadn’t known why the former Dark Lord had wanted him to do so, but had gladly gone along with the plans in the hopes of earning Grindelwald’s favor.

Karkaroff may not have been told any of the details, but both he and the media had plenty of theories. The most popular one was that Grindelwald and Dumbledore were hoping that the Triwizard Tournament would kill Hydrus so that they wouldn’t have to do it themselves. It seemed like an overly complex and convoluted plan just to off a single teenager, but that tended to be Dumbledore’s style. So, even though it was all a bit mad, no one was particularly surprised.

The worst part of it all—at least in Hydrus’ opinion—was that everyone kept shooting worried glances his way. It was as if they thought he’d have a nervous breakdown at any moment just because powerful wizards wanted him dead. But powerful wizards _always_ wanted him dead, especially Dumbledore, so this was nothing new to him. He didn’t see how one more failed attempt to do him in changed anything.

“It’s no different than when Dumbledore tried to frame you for the Chamber of Secrets,” Hermione had agreed when Hydrus complained about it all to her. “Or when Pettigrew managed to get into the school last year, for that matter. This is just the latest in a long line of frankly pathetic attempts on your life.”

Hydrus was certain that his sister was the only reasonable person in the entire world.

Father had thrown himself into research on the family names of former Grindelwald supporters, as well as how one might identify the newer ones—much like he had done for Dumbledore in years prior. Now that Dumbledore and Grindelwald’s interest in the Triwizard Tournament was known, every single person involved was being investigated by either Father, Professor Lupin, Dad, or Uncle Rabastan. It was getting to be a bit ridiculous.

Luckily, Hydrus was able to distract himself from Wizarding Britain's collective panic by focusing on the events of the Triwizard Tournament. The first task was due to take place the following weekend, and Hogwarts was abuzz with excitement over what the task might entail. All sorts of rumors abounded—each coming off as more absurd than the next—and it was hard not to get swept up in all the commotion.

“It’s dragons,” Ron said decisively on the way to their joint Hufflepuff-Slytherin Herbology lesson.

Hydrus was glad Ron had waited until after they’d finished breakfast and left the Great Hall before dropping that on him. He’d have certainly choked on his food or otherwise made some kind of scene. As it was, he was struggling not to gape like a fish.

“Dragons?” he repeated a bit breathlessly.

And just like that Hydrus finally understood why everyone was so up in arms about Karkaroff’s attempts to enter him in the Triwizard Tournament. He’d known logically that it was incredibly dangerous and that there was a high risk of injury or wore, but the emotional aspect of having been nearly sent to his death hadn’t really sunk in until now. There was almost no possibility of a fourteen year old being able to successfully best a dragon.

Pansy, meanwhile, didn’t look at all surprised. If anything, she looked a bit curious, her eyes narrowed and a single eyebrow arched high. “How’d you find out?” she asked in a completely calm voice.

“My brother Charlie sent me a letter this morning saying he’s in town,” Ron explained, looking around furtively as if worried he might be overheard. “Said he was here to watch the tournament, but I doubt he’d come all the way here from the dragon preserve in Romania if he wasn’t involved somehow.”

“Merlin!” Draco gasped. “Dragons! I can’t believe the Ministry’s stupid enough to let teenagers face dragons.”

Pansy simply shrugged. “I’m just glad I’ve got confirmation. I’d heard a few people whispering about it being dragons, but it’s nice to know for sure.”

“I thought—or rather hoped—that was just another rumor,” Justin said, paling a bit. “I’m not sure I’ll have the stomach to watch, especially when someone inevitably gets eaten.”

“I highly doubt anyone will actually get eaten,” Pansy replied, looking thoroughly unimpressed by Justin’s nervousness.

“You never know,” Justin insisted.

Hydrus doubted Headmistress McGonagall would ever allow things to go that badly, but he also understood Justin’s concern. Stranger and more terrible things had happened at Hogwarts in the past under Dumbledore’s dubious leadership. It was only natural to worry that such things could happen again.

“There’s bound to be some sort of safeguards,” Hydrus assured his friend. “McGonagall’s not the type to let students die. And besides, it’d look terrible for the Ministry if their tournament killed a student from another country.”

Justin didn’t say anything in response, but he didn’t look at all convinced either.

By the morning of the first task, nearly the entire school had heard the dragon “rumor”. Most didn’t believe it, citing that it was far too dangerous for seventeen year olds to face dragons on their own. Due to the well known death toll of the tournament, though, this argument wasn’t nearly as compelling as it might’ve otherwise been. There was a clear precedent of involving the champions in tasks that were far too dangerous with little to no regard for their safety. With that in mind, facing dragons didn’t seem like all that much of a stretch.

And so, when the students filled the stands and Ludo Bagman announced the exact nature of the first task—stealing a false egg from a nesting mother dragon—the only people who were surprised were those who had supported theories of it being a completely different dangerous beast. The griffin and occamy theorists, in particular, were quite disappointed at not having been right.

“Not that I actually expected it to be griffins,” Hydrus overheard Seamus Finnigan telling Dean Thomas and Michael Corner. “It just seemed to be the most reasonable of all the theories out there.”

“Facing dragons really is too extreme for a single person to manage on their own,” Michael Corner had readily agreed.

Hydrus was of the same opinion that this was way too dangerous, but he didn’t let that stop him from attending. He, Hermione, Padma, Ron, every single fourth year Slytherin, and a very nervous Justin Finch-Fletchley had all decided to go together. Or rather, Hydrus and his housemates had intended to meet up with Hermione, who wanted to bring Padma, who spotted Ron and Justin on the way and invited them over—who were both grateful for an excuse to not sit with the overly enthusiastic crowds of Hufflepuffs they’d arrived with. Draco was also incredibly pleased with their joining, though everyone was polite enough not to notice the slight flush on his cheeks whenever Ron got a bit too close. They hadn’t yet spotted any of their Gryffindor friends, but Hydrus figured it was only a matter of time until the lions joined their sprawling inter-house group.

As the dragon tamers led the first nesting mother into the arena, Ludo Bagman’s amplified voice filled the surrounding stadium. “Witches and wizards of all ages, welcome to the first task of the 1994 Triwizard Tournament!” he announced, eliciting cheers from the crowd. “Before we begin, let’s let’s give a warm round of applause to our wonderful panel of judges. Representing Beauxbatons Academy is Headmistress Olympe Maxime. Representing Hogwarts is our gracious host Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Lord Percy Prewett is here on behalf of the Ministry’s Department of International Magical Cooperation. And last but not least, filling in for Igor Karkaroff is Durmstrang’s new headmaster—Yuri Oblonsky.”

Headmaster Oblonsky looked far younger and more trustworthy than his predecessor. He had all the looks of Gilderoy Lockhart without the cheap veneer of sincerity and history of Obliviating people to steal their glory. He had wavy chestnut hair, warm eyes, and a disarming smile. Headmistresses McGonagall and Maxime (and even Percy) appeared to be utterly charmed by the man. 

Ludo Bagman continued on in his overly loud, amplified voice: “First up—facing the notoriously speedy Swedish Short-Snout—is Hogwarts Champion Cedric Diggory!”

The Hogwarts students clapped and cheered for their school’s champion, with the Hufflepuffs being the most excitable of the bunch. Even from several rows of seats away, the noises they made were nearly deafening.

“Thanks for saving us from that, mate,” Ron said, gesturing to his housemates.

Justin nodded in agreement. “Seriously. I mean, we’re just as thrilled as any other Puff that Cedric got chosen, but about half our housemates have become unbearable about it—especially the older years.”

“Zacharias Smith hates it though,” Ron added. “He seems to think _he_ ought to be the center of the house’s attention at all times because he’s a descendent of Helga Hufflepuff herself. Cedric being more important than him is royally pissing him off.”

Hydrus grimaced. Zacharias Smith was easily the worst person in their entire year. “That unfortunately doesn’t surprise me at all,” he said sympathetically.

Any more complaints about Smith were cut off by Ludo Bagman shouting: “And, he’s off!”

The first thing Hydrus noticed when Cedric stepped into the arena was how absurdly small he looked compared to the dragon. A single person taking on one of these gigantic, fierce creatures seemed an impossibility. Cedric, however, didn’t seem to be of the same mind as Hydrus. Instead, he drew his wand and began to cast.

It wasn’t quite obvious what Cedric was doing, but one thing was for certain: it was clearly agitating the Swedish Short-Snout. The dragon reared back and extended its wings in an impressive display, roaring viciously at some unseen enemy—ignoring Cedric almost entirely.

_"Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow… He's taking risks, this one…_

Whatever Cedric was doing to keep the dragon from paying attention to him was causing some very unfortunate collateral damage. Fire and rubble flew in every which direction as the nesting mother stampeded towards her unseen attacker. Cedric had to dodge and weave with every step just to avoid being hit by the debris.

_“Clever move — pity it didn't work!"_

“It’d be helpful if Bagman explained what the moves actually were,” Draco said rather petulantly.

Hydrus nodded in agreement. He hadn’t even _seen_ a move by Cedric—let alone whether it had or hadn’t worked. “You’d think he’d be better at this,” he quipped, “seeing as he spent a good fifteen or so years playing in professional quidditch matches that announced his every move.”

“No one ever said Bagman had any brains left in that head of his,” Pansy retorted viciously.

“Honestly,” Hermione huffed. “Imagine how confusing this whole display must be for those who haven’t worked out that Cedric’s using illusions to disorient the dragon. Bagman could’ve at least mentioned his speculations on the subject. How’s a first year with hardly any knowledge of magic to figure out a thing like that on their own?”

Illusions… made a lot of sense. Hydrus felt a bit like an idiot for not having pieced that one together sooner.

“It’s not just first years who might have trouble figuring it out,” Ron muttered, sounding every bit like he also hadn’t come to that conclusion.

“I actually thought he’d Confunded the dragon,” Justin sheepishly admitted.

Blaise shot him a sympathetic smile. “Same here.”

“Dragons, like most animals, are resistant to mind magic,” Theo explained to them in an entirely non-judgemental tone. “Their brains don’t process thoughts the way ours would, and it’s not like you can mess with what isn’t there.”

“Huh,” Blaise replied, impressed. “You learn something new every day.”

Finally, fifteen minutes and one gushing head wound later, Cedric ran out of the arena with the golden egg in his hand. He looked exhausted and Madame Pomphrey looked about ready to have a fit and the headmasters from all three schools looked perturbed in some way. McGonagall was the worst of the bunch, her lips pressed together so tightly that it looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon. The other two appeared more disappointed that Cedric succeeded than concerned about his wellbeing.

Only Ludo Bagman seemed genuinely excited over what had happened. _"One down, three to go!" Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. "Miss Delacour, if you please!"_

With a shallow bow to the audience, the Beauxbatons champion entered the arena.

_The same process started again… "Oh I'm not sure that was wise!" they could hear Bagman shouting gleefully. "Oh… nearly! Careful now… good lord, I thought she'd had it then!"_

Hermione let out an annoyed huff. “Can’t he just give us a play-by-play like normal commentators?” she half-asked, half-scolded.

“They should’ve let Lee be the announcer,” Ron said, nodding in agreement with Hermione.

“Lee would’ve been great,” replied Padma, “but can you imagine how the other schools would’ve reacted to his style of commentating?”

Ron snorted in amusement. “That’d make it even better.”

Lee Jordan might not be the most focused commentator due to his preoccupation with attractive female quidditch players—and, in particular, Gryffindor chaser Angelina Johnson—but he always did a good job of announcing everything as it happened. Not even his tangents about girls and brooms distracted him from telling the audience exactly what happened exactly when it happened. He did, however, also have a terrible bias and likely would’ve criticized every little thing the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions did no matter how much McGonagall scolded him to stop.

“Look!” shouted Draco, pointing wildly.

A tornado had been let loose from Fleur’s wand. It spun wildly in the opposite direction of the eggs, and the Welsh Green, perceiving the the tornado to be a bigger threat than a teenage girl, chased after it. Fleur took advantage of the distraction to run unapprehended towards the eggs, grab the golden one, and run back out—dismissing the tornado with a flourish of her wand as soon as she reached safety.

“That was brilliant spellwork!” Hermione gushed. “Risky, but brilliant! It takes a ton of concentration to maintain control over any form of elemental magic, but to be able to take her eyes off it long enough to finish the task…”

“It might be risky for a full-blooded wizard,” Draco conceded before smugly adding: “but Delacour’s part veela, and they’ve got a far superior affinity for air and fire magic than wizards do. It was smart of her to use that to her advantage.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t do that to start with then,” Hydrus admitted. The champions ought to be leaning into any advantage they can get in order to win. He knew he certainly would have done so if he’d been forced to compete.

Draco shrugged. “She might not have wanted to win that way originally. Creature laws in Britain have always been terribly conservative compared to the continent, and there’s every chance she was warned against leaning into her veela ancestry because of it.”

Hermione looked like she was gearing up for one of her impassioned speeches on the importance of equality, but was cut off by Ludo Bagman announcing: “And now for our final champion—Viktor Krum!”

Krum’s dragon—a Chinese Fireball, according to Greg and Ron—was far more intimidating than the ones Cedric and Fleur had faced, and Hydrus couldn’t help but feel that this was terribly unfair. Why not use dragons that were all of a similar temperament? Better yet, why not use three individuals from the same species of dragon? None of the champions should have to face a greater challenge than the others simply because of poor luck.

A red spell shot up and hit the dragon directly in the eyes.

_"Very daring!" Bagman was yelling, and Hydrus heard the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek._

Hermione gasped. “You don’t think he’s blinded it, do you?” she worriedly asked the others.

“No, but I don’t think what he _did_ do is much better,” Draco said with a frown. “I’m pretty sure he was shouting the Conjunctivitis Curse.”

“That’s just cruel,” Hydrus and his sister said at the exact same time.

Ron, whose eyes hadn’t left the dragon, was grimacing. “The other two succeeded without hurting their dragons, so clearly he didn’t need to do it in order to win.”

Greg was uncharacteristically long-winded in his agreement with Ron. His heart-felt rant on dealing with dragons was highly reminiscent of something Hagrid might say, putting his concern for the dragon’s happiness and wellbeing over that of the human who’d upset it. And, at least in this case, Hydrus couldn’t help but think his priorities were entirely correct.

When the dragon blindly stumbled backwards and accidentally stepped on one of her own eggs, Hydrus and all of his friends collectively lost their minds. Dragons were endangered enough without being put in positions where their young might be harmed. To allow something like this to happen was terrible on the part of both the Ministry and the dragon handlers who’d brought these nesting mothers into the arena.

“I hope the poor thing hasn’t died,” Hermione practically cried, worrying her lower lip.

“Can’t imagine anything would survive being stomped on by a dragon,” Ron said regretfully.

_”That's some nerve he's showing — and — yes, he's got the egg!"_

It wasn’t until they’d heard Bagman’s shouting that Hydrus and his friends realized Krum had finished the task. They’d been far too upset over the poor, crushed egg to notice him sneak around the dragon and grab his prize. And in all honesty, Hydrus wasn’t entirely sure he cared, especially not now that the dragon handlers had entered the arena in order to assess the damage. The fate of the baby dragon was more important by far than anything that could happen in the tournament.

In the end, Krum lost quite a few points from his final score for what happened with the dragon egg, putting him firmly in third place. Fleur came in second, though both Hermione and Draco quite loudly complained that her wind magic was the most impressive tactic and deserved to come in first. And finally, in first place, was Hogwarts champion Cedric Diggory.

“I suppose we’ll be needing to get back to the common room to celebrate,” Ron said with agrin, gesturing to himself and Justin.

Justin smirked, his eyes gleaming. “I bet Zacharias Smith will be a nightmare about it.”

“With an attitude like that, how are you not a Slytherin?” Pansy wanted to know.

“There’s nothing Slytherin about thinking Zacharias Smith is a pompous idiot who deserves to be taken down a few pegs,” Justin replied, shrugging. “I’m pretty sure everyone in our year hates him—except maybe Ernie Macmillan.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Ron agreed.

After Ron and Justin split off from the rest of the group, Hermione and Padma did the same, leaving the Slytherins to head down to the dungeons on their own. They mostly chatted about the first task and the champions’ performances and how Fleur had deserved a higher score, but every once in a while, one of Hydrus’ housemates would give him a worried look. He didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“It’s just hard to process that someone wanted _you_ out there facing one of the dragons,” Draco finally explained.

Hydrus shrugged. “I don’t know. Dumbledore’s wanted stranger things than that.”

“That may be so,” Draco conceded, “but you’ve got to admit that this whole tournament is a bit nuts. And imagine if he’d still been headmaster! There would’ve been no getting you out of it. He’d probably have gone on about how it’s for his stupid Greater Good or whatever nonsense he was always spouting. What a nutter!”

“You’re right,” Hydrus couldn’t help but agree. “He’d definitely have made me compete.”

“Merlin, you two are bleak,” Pansy interrupted them, slinging her arms around their shoulders. “Dumbledore failed. There’s no use worrying about what might’ve happened because none of it did or will happen.”

Daphne nodded sagely. “Really, there are far more important things to worry about right now. For example, the Yule Ball’s hardly a month away. Who are we all going with?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> real fucked up that they used an endangered species in the tournament


	15. Courting Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hydrus and friends are suffering from the drama of who to go to yule ball with

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. apologies for the delays in updates lately. work's been kicking my ass, and i've had no energy to dedicate to this unfortunately.

It was almost as if Daphne’s question had been some sort of prophetic warning. Mere days after the first task, the entire student body’s attention turned to that of the upcoming Yule Ball. Gossip of who’d gotten a date and who’d been rejected rang through the halls between every single class, with the upper years getting particularly caught up in it all so as to keep track of who was still available to ask out. The way things were going, the Yule Ball was gearing up to be an even bigger deal than the tournament itself.

For some strange reason, the professors seemed to be of the same mindset. Headmistress McGonagall had announced that optional dance lessons would be held in the History classroom every Monday and Thursday evening for those who were interested. Both the headmistress and Aunt Andromeda would be teaching these lessons, and Father had been coerced into helping out by the headmistress and the ghost of Myrtle Warren. Hydrus had no idea what Myrtle could have possibly said to convince Father to do something he clearly had no desire to do, but it was terribly impressive that she’d managed it after just a ten minute visit to his quarters. Even more impressive—she hadn’t needed to break or flood a single thing to get her way.

Father had tried to convince Professors Prince and Lupin to join in on the lessons as well, but both vehemently refused. Professor Prince had even gone as far as to claim he didn’t know how to dance even though Father knew he did and had witnessed such a thing on several occasions. Professor Lupin, on the other hand, was a genuinely terrible dancer and didn’t want to quite literally step on anyone’s toes. Sirius was more than happy to corroborate his claims, recounting one gala they’d gone to at Potter Manor where Professor Lupin had somehow sprained his ankle while attempting to waltz.

“I suppose you could say there’s a reason Lockhart didn’t name his book _Waltzing with Werewolves_ ,” Sirius had said when he finished telling his tale.

Professor Lupin just looked disappointed. “You’re losing your edge, Padfoot,” he’d replied with a mock frown, “if that’s the best you can do.”

While Professor Prince didn’t get involved in the dance lessons, he did take it upon himself to call a Slytherin house meeting in the common room to go over proper behavior for the Yule Ball. It was horribly awkward to hear their dour, strict potions master lecture them on things like the dress code and not getting caught sneaking around with their dates afterwards. Even Hydrus and Draco—who both adored their Uncle Severus—desperately wished they’d never had to hear him utter the phrase “fooling around” in this particular context. He’d even gone as far as to warn them about using protection, which garnered a shudder from just about all the fourth year Slytherins.

“Oh, grow up,” Blaise had teased the rest of them. “It’s not as if it’s impossible for Professor Prince to know about that kind of stuff. He _is_ a married man after all.”

“That just makes it worse somehow,” Tracey replied, grimacing.

Pansy nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s weird to think of teachers having any sort of life outside of, well, teaching.”

“Especially when it involves buggering my uncle,” Hydrus chimed in.

Draco had told him off quite soundly for putting that image into his head.

By the first of December, just about every student was either paired up, looking for a date, or bemoaning their most recent rejection. It was getting bad enough that Hydrus wondered if perhaps the other houses would do well to have a talk about propriety with Professor Prince. The amount of kissing he’d seen in the hallways over the past few days had been more than he’d seen in the past three years. What’s more, the louder and flashier attempts at asking people to the dance were proving to be quite distracting—either by interrupting meals or being gossiped about during classes. There was no escaping this courting mayhem.

Hydrus had assumed that, as a bunch of fourteen and fifteen year olds, his friends would not be particularly affected by this strange date-finding frenzy that had afflicted the upper years. Unfortunately, he was wrong. There were at least five new stories to add to the drama with every passing day, and Hydrus could hardly keep up with them all. Last he was aware, Hermione and Millicent (and by extension, Dade) were the only people in their friend group who were currently happy about who they were going with.

And so, when Hydrus came back to the Slytherin common room after an evening of studying in the library with his sister, he was perhaps not surprised but certainly confused, as to why everyone looked as though they were in mourning. Hydrus looked around in hope that Pansy was around to explain what was going on. But, after discovering that she was unfortunately absent from the common room, he settled on asking the only person who looked entirely ambivalent about everything: Daphne Greengrass.

“Do you have any idea why all of our friends look so miserable?” Hydrus asked her as he sat down on the wingback chair across from hers.

Daphne sucked in a deep breath. “Well… from what I understand, Ron and Theo are miserable because Hermione’s going to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum—though they’re not miserable over the same person, Draco’s miserable because Ron’s going to with Luna Lovegood, Blaise is miserable because Tracey’s going with Anthony Goldstein—” she took in another breath “—and from what I can figure, Greg and Vince are both miserable because they haven’t figured out that they both want to go together.”

There was so much to take in that Hydrus picked out the least complicated part to comment on. “Hermione’s going with Krum?” he asked. “I knew she had a date, but I assumed she was going with one of the Weasley twins.”

“They’re going with Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell,” Daphne replied. “I can’t remember who’s going with who though.”

“And I take it…” Hydrus trailed off, gears in his head still spinning, “that Ron fancies Krum? And that’s why he’s upset Hermione’s going with him?”

Daphne nodded.

“So does that mean Theo fancies Hermione?”

“Apparently so,” Daphne said.

“Huh. For some reason, I thought he fancied Neville.”

Daphne arched an incredulous eyebrow. “Neville?”

“Yeah,” said Hydrus with shrug. “They seem really friendly around each other.”

“That’s because they’re friends.”

Hydrus had to admit that Daphne was onto something there. After all, he was friendly with plenty of people who he didn’t fancy. He must’ve just been reading into things.

“Wait!” he exclaimed, suddenly feeling like an idiot. “Why’s Ron going with Luna if he fancies Krum? That doesn’t seem fair to her.”

“Oh, they’re not going together because they fancy each other,” Daphne assured him. “Ron’s going with Luna and Neville’s going with Ginny because neither girl can go to the dance without a fourth year inviting them. Padma’s going with Colin, I think, but she really wants to go with Neville and is hoping to switch dates at some point in the evening.”

Hydrus groaned. “Why is this all so bloody complicated?”

Daphne pursed her lips, and Hydrus wondered what he possibly could have said wrong. “Well, we can’t all have it easy as you and Pansy. It’s not like everyone gets to just fall for their childhood friend. Some of us are still figuring things out.”

Hydrus stared at her, gaping, as his mind spun in circles like a hamster in a wheel. What in the world did Daphne mean by that? He couldn’t think of anyone he was in love with, and he certainly wasn’t dating anyone. Why did she think he was?

But as for Pansy… was there some friend of theirs that she was already dating? That she was in love with and who loved her back? For some reason, the possibility made his stomach twist with unease. He knew it was selfish, but he didn’t like the idea of her dating someone—especially someone she hadn’t even told him about. They always told each other everything. Did she not trust him with the knowledge? Or did she think it wasn’t worth him knowing? He didn’t like any of this one bit.

“I… uh…” Hydrus stuttered out when he realized Daphne was staring at him. He wished he could form basic sentences right now, but his mouth and mind were decidedly not in sync after this bombshell.

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother denying it,” she told him, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. “It’s so obvious to everyone who’s ever seen you and Pansy interact with one another. Honestly, the two of you make love at first sight seem like less of a fairytale.”

Hydrus was fairly certain his brain had shut down entirely like a computer’s blue screen of death. He’d heard the words Daphne had said, but he wasn’t actually processing them. It had never once occurred to him over the past four years that he fancied Pansy, or that she fancied him. Having it pointed out so plainly, though, made him feel like an idiot for not noticing sooner. His feelings for her had always been so much more than just friendship, though he’d assumed at the time that she was simply a closer friend than the others. And he knew she was quite pretty—despite her insistence that her upturned nose made her look like a pug—but looking back, he now saw that her beauty was more than an objective fact. He truly _liked_ the way she looked, appreciated her appearance more than he did for Daphne or Padma. Pansy was different, and he wanted her to be his.

“Oh,” said Hydrus. “Well then.”

“Anyway,” said Daphne, entirely oblivious to the effect this revelation was having on Hydrus, “I’m going to the Yule Ball with Adrian Pucey. I hadn’t really considered him as an option before, but I can’t say I’m not interested now that the idea’s been put into my head.”

“Yeah, Hydrus agreed, “I know what you mean.”

*****

Now that Hydrus knew he fancied Pansy, he could think of little else. Every little past interaction now took on a new meaning, and he was desperate to know what they meant to her. Daphne might believe Pansy fancied him, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was true. After all, plenty of people read into things where there’s nothing to read into. He certainly had when it came to Neville and Theo.

He wanted to ask more of his friends for their opinions on the matter, but they were all embroiled in their own drama. Ron and Hermione currently weren’t speaking to another because of a fight they’d had regarding Hemione’s date to Yule Ball. Draco was far more short-tempered than usual as well, especially when the name Ron Weasley was mentioned around him. Blaise had taken to flirting with everyone around him in some misguided attempt to distract himself from his feeling for Tracey, who now spent more time with Anthony Goldstein than her friends. And Hydrus obviously couldn’t ask Pansy for help because this was about her.

This left the one reliable person in Hydrus’ life who he could talk to, but tragically he would be just as pathetically clueless about romantic issues as Hydrus: his father. According to Mum and Dad, Father had never been in a romantic relationship in all the time they knew him. Father himself had indicated that, while he liked the idea of a life partner, he was not particularly interested in all that having a spouse entailed and did not believe he could meet the expectations of such a relationship. The only thing he’d felt he was truly missing out on was having children, which he’d been able to do without having to go through the hassle of a romantic entanglement. He was perfectly content with friends and followers and the children he shared with them.

When Hydrus knocked on the door to his father’s quarters, he couldn’t help but worry he’d be sent away as soon as he explained what the problem was. It wasn’t that he thought his father would be unwilling to help him; he just didn’t think his father could. Even worse, he worried that Father might call in reinforcements—anyone from Mum and Dad to Aunt Andromeda, Remus, or even Severus. The mere thought of that happening was painfully embarrassing.

“Enter,” his father called out.

Hydrus took a steadying breath and slowly opened the door. Given the state of his nerves, it was almost disappointing to see how normal everything looked. He wished there was something creepy or horrific to focus on to distract himself from the confusion that he might have feelings for a girl. Unfortunately, the closest thing there was to such a distraction was Nagini, who had curled up on a cushion in front of the fireplace like a dog.

 _~Hello, young one,~_ she hissed softly when the door clicked shut behind Hydrus.

Hydrus nodded to Nagini. _~Hello to you asss well.~_

 _~It’ss been far too long sssince I’ve sseen you,~_ she said haughtily. _~You and the other hatchlingss don’t vissit nearly enough. Quite rude, if you assk me.~_

 _~I mussst ssay I agree,~_ interjected Father, looking up from the essay he’d been grading. Switching to English, he added: “May I ask why my son has finally come to visit after weeks of ignoring his poor father?”

Hydrus rolled his eyes despite the pang of guilt he felt. His father was right. He’d gone far too long between visits. Still, he wasn’t about to admit to such a thing.

“Would you believe me if I said it’s because I missed you?” Hydrus asked.

Father gave him an unimpressed look. “Not at all.”

“Fine,” Hydrus conceded easily. “I need advice.”

“Advice?” his father repeated, one eyebrow arched high in skepticism. “It must be either quite serious or quite personal if you’re coming to me instead of your Head of House.”

Hydrus resisted the urge to grimace. “It’s about girls,” he admitted somewhat awkwardly.

“Ah,” said Father. “Yes, I can see how Severus would not be helpful when it comes to that particular matter—nor Remus, for that matter. Did you want me to floo Rodolphus? I don’t think he’s busy right now.”

“Please don’t,” Hydrus said a little too quickly, earning a curious look from his father. “I mean… well, I think it’d be best if I talked to you about this.”

Father stared at him for a long time before finally asking: “Why?”

The bewildered look in his father’s eyes left Hydrus floundering. He had no idea how to answer that, not in a way that would sound convincing. He hadn’t even expected he’d need to _be_ convincing. He’d almost rather he be turned away.

“I think…” he began, still struggling to find the right words, “well… I suppose it just made the most sense to ask you.”

Father didn’t look at all convinced. “You do realize that I’ve never once been involved in—” he scrunched his nose as if he’d thought of something truly disgusting “—romantic entanglements, yes?”

“Yes,” Hydrus agreed, “but we seem to have the same obliviousness to these issues, so it made more sense to me to ask your opinion than someone who’s more in touch with their feelings.”

Hydrus was surprised by just how much he meant that. He knew now that he fancied Pansy and would like to pursue something more than friendship with her, but he hadn’t felt any overwhelming desire to do anything romantic with her. There was no scenario where he could picture them holding hands at Madame Puddifoot’s or exchanging expensive Valentine’s Day gifts. Mum and Dad and every other person he knew would likely recommend he show his affections with grand gestures, but to do so seemed disingenuous. Father, on the other hand, might actually be able to understand his desire for a straightforward understanding of mutual interest.

“I see,” said Father in a tone that expressed that this wasn’t the case at all.

“It’s been brought to my attention that I fancy Pansy Parkinson,” Hydrus explained, trying not to cringe at how ridiculous he sounded. “And it’s also been suggested that she might fancy me in return.”

“Oh, that.” Father sounded terribly relieved. “Yes, I had noticed that the two of you are quite a bit closer to one another than you are the rest of your friends.”

Hydrus’ eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise. It had to be a good sign if his father—the least romantically inclined person to ever live—had noticed something between them, right? And yet—

“That doesn’t necessarily mean she fancies me,” Hydrus reluctantly argued.

“Perhaps,” Father agreed, “which is why you ought to talk to her about this.”

Hydrus struggled not to grimace. He’d so hoped there’d be a way for him to know for certain before talking to Pansy. He was terrified of ruining their friendship by confessing his feelings, only to have her not return them.

“But what if she doesn’t feel the same?” Hydrus asked.

Father regarded him carefully before speaking. “Then you accept her rejection gracefully and move on,” he replied slowly. “But, for what it’s worth, I don’t believe she’ll reject you. The two of you have shown a comfortable closeness that I doubt either of you feel for anyone else.”

Hydrus wasn’t at all convinced. It sounded more like acceptance than romance, and he wanted Pansy to feel more than just acceptance towards him. “That doesn’t sound like much of a way to start a relationship,” he grumbled.

“Not every relationship has to be some grand romance for the ages,” Father told him. “Most are decidedly not. There’s nowhere that says you must experience love at first sight like Bella and Rod, nor is it required that you run away with your beloved like Andromeda and Ted. It’s far more common to seek out something comfortable and companionable, to want to spend your life loving a close friend.”

Hydrus considered his father’s words, and found more truth to them than he’d expected. As much highly regarded as notions of being swept off one’s feet and proving one’s love in some extravagant fashion were in theory, loving a friend made far more sense. If he was lucky, Pansy might feel the same. And when he looked back on those same memories he’d s agonizingly analyzed over the past few days, Hydrus could see clearly that they had the foundation of the sort of relationship his father spoke of. Perhaps the matter was not as confusing as he’d initially thought.

*****

Hydrus returned to Slytherin territory feeling far less worried than when he’d left. His father’s advice had been surprisingly helpful—as well as much, much less awkward than he’d been expecting. He now believed with reasonable certainty that he could survive asking Pansy to be his date to the Yule Ball.

The common room was fairly empty when he returned, with only a few people studying and even fewer playing chess. Hydrus supposed that most everybody else would have gone either to the library or outside by this time of day. After all, it wasn’t exactly early morning anymore and the vast majority of the Slytherins had quite a few friends outside their house that they’d want to spend time with before curfew.

There was, however, one person currently in the common room that Hydrus had wanted to see.

“Oh, Hydrus,” Pansy said with a smile, looking up from a book she’d been reading. “I’m glad you’re here. I was looking for you earlier, but couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Hydrus felt a slight pang of guilt. “Sorry. I was visiting my father,” he explained awkwardly.

Pansy gave him a knowing look, though Hydrus couldn’t for the life of him understand why. “Right. Of course. Was he asking your opinions on the headmistress’ pursuit of him then? Because I personally think he should go for it. They’d be good together.”

Hydrus had absolutely no idea what Pansy was talking about. He hadn’t heard so much as a rumor that there was anything going on between his father and Headmistress McGonagall. Where Pansy getting her information?

“Anyway,” Pansy continued, either oblivious to or ignoring Hydrus’ confusion, “I’ve been meaning to give you this for ages.” She pulled a sapphire blue silk tie from her pocket. “I’m sure you’ve already got a tie, but I’d rather you wear one that matches my dress. It wouldn’t do for us to look like we hadn’t coordinated our outfits.”

It took Hydrus a moment to realize what Pansy was saying, and even then, he almost couldn’t believe it. “Are you… are you asking me to be your date to Yule Ball?” he asked her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pansy huffed, shooting him an unimpressed look. “Of course I’m not asking. I’m _telling_ you that we’re going to the Yule Ball together because you’re too oblivious to figure things out any other way.”

“Oh.” Hydrus was still a bit bewildered but felt immensely relieved all the same. “Well, I accept of course.”

Pansy rolled her eyes but still smiled. “Obviously. Now, do you want to go find the others? I heard Blaise and Theo were both hoping to find dates for the Yule Ball today.”

As he followed Pansy out of the common room, Hydrus could hardly believe his good fortune. He’d spent all that time stressing only for Pansy to take care of everything for him. Apparently he hadn’t needed to worry at all.


	16. Yule Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yule ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own harry potter  
> 2\. italics yoinked from canon  
> 3\. work's still kicking my ass :C

The constant swirling rumors and relationship gossip that plagued the halls of Hogwarts like the wintry drafts coming through opened windows did not abate for the entirety of December. No one was safe from speculation—not even the teachers, some of whom the gossipmongers claimed were secretly dating one another and would make their first public appearances at Yule Ball. Rather, the alleged secret romance between Hagrid and Madame Maxine, or the so-called lingering glances exchanged by Madame Pince and Professor Vector, were nearly as talked about as any of the rumors surrounding the Triwizard Tournament champions.

None of that, however, mattered one bit to Hydrus. Some of his friends were still grumbling about not getting to go with their ideal Yule Ball dates (although Draco didn’t seem too terribly put out over being asked by a Beauxbatons boy called Noel rather than going with Ron), but for the most part, they’d stopped letting it get in the way of looking forward to the dance. Or, they were still being just as dramatic as before, they’d thankfully stopped doing it in front of Hydrus. He had told them plenty of times, after all, that there was still music and food and dancing and socializing with friends to be had that evening.

Hydrus was instead far more interested in his newfound relationship with Pansy. She had let him know that they were dating now, and he was glad she did because he might not have noticed otherwise. They were already so close that their day to day interactions didn’t change much, and neither of them had any interest in flaunting their new status. There was no hand holding on the way to class or kissing in the halls like Hydrus had seen from other couples. The most they’d done was exchange a kiss on the cheek after spending the day together in Hogsmeade. Hydrus had quite liked that and wanted to kiss Pansy again, but their next date wasn’t until the Yule Ball. He worried that it would be too forward to try anything before then.

Luckily for Hydrus, December passed by quickly, and before he knew it, it was the day of the Yule Ball. He was jittery with a nervous excitement for the entire day. After all, a person only had one first kiss in their lifetime, and he planned to have his today. Not even the snowball fight he’d had with his friends that morning was enough to distract him for very long.

“It’s just a kiss,” Blaise had told him after Hydrus explained what was occupying his every thought. “You don’t need to make such a big deal of it.”

“Of course it’s a big deal!” Draco had argued. “Everyone dreams of having a perfect first kiss!”

Theo hadn’t agreed. Apparently the circumstances of his future first kiss weren’t something he’d ever dwelled on, an admission that kickstarted a rather long-winded diatribe on romance from Draco—something all the other boys agreed they could have gone without hearing.

By the time the boys were all ready for Yule Ball, Hydrus had been bombarded with all sorts of advice on kissing. Out of all of them, only Blaise had ever kissed someone before, but that didn’t stop the others from having plenty to say. But because Blaise’s approach was far too aloof for Hydrus’ taste, he instead found himself thinking hard on Theo’s advice that the kiss should happen naturally. Theo didn’t have any plans to kiss his date—Ravenclaw fourth year Mandy Brocklehurst—but he said that he wouldn’t prevent it from happening if the right moment came along. Hydrus thought that made the most sense of all his dormmates’ advice.

Once they finished getting ready for the Yule Ball, Hydrus and the other boys made their way into the common room to wait for the girls. Of all the girls, only Daphne had finished getting ready so far, and she’d left with Adrian Pucey and his friends as soon as she spotted them. Hydrus suspected that Daphne would be a bit bored spending the whole night with a bunch of quidditch players, but he hoped her date with Adrian didn’t suffer for it. She’d really begun looking forward to going out with him and would likely be upset if things didn’t work out.

“Hello, boys!” Tracey called out as she made her way out of the girls’ dormitory dressed in a burgundy gown and golden hoop earrings. “Pansy and Millicent are on their way.”

“Finally!” Draco dramatically replied. “I thought we’d die of old age before you ladies got it together.”

Millicent, who had followed closely behind Tracey, wearing a long, modest dark purple dress, snorted and said: “Like you’ve got any room to talk. I’ve heard plenty from Vince and Greg about how long it takes _you_ to get ready.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, only to close it again when he realized Millicent hadn’t said anything that wasn’t the truth.

Blaise rolled his eyes at Draco, and then turned to the girls. “You’re looking lovely, Tracey, Millicent,” he told them.

“The purple really suits you, Millicent,” Hydrus added.

Millicent flushed slightly. “Thanks,” she mumbled, looking down at her dress.

Hydrus heard from Pansy that Millicent had insisted on wearing black at first—despite her eyes wandering towards the purple and blue dresses—because her mother always said black was a more slimming color. Pansy and the other girls had eventually been able to convince Millicent to go with what made her happiest instead of what made her look thinnest, and she looked terribly happy with having done so. Hydrus might not understand how colors could change how fat or thin a person looked, but he thought being happy in something less “slimming” was a much better look than being miserable in black.

Theo surveyed the group and asked: “So we’re all just waiting for Pansy now, right?”

“Did somebody say my name?” called out an all too familiar voice.

Pansy sauntered into the common room wearing a floor length sapphire blue qipao with silvery ivy leaves and white rose designs adorning the skirt. Over her shoulders was a silver open-style outer robe that showed off the dress while keeping her arms covered in the pale fabric. But perhaps most stunning of all were the sparkling ivy leaf hair pins that adorned her braided black bun, giving her the appearance of an ethereal nature spirit.

Hydrus’ mouth felt strangely dry as he looked at his date. “You look great,” he said honestly, unable to take his eyes off her.

A slight flush tinged Pansy’s cheeks pink. “Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself.”

An awkward cough brought the couple of out of their reverie. Hydrus turned to see the rest of their dormmates waiting impatiently by the common room door.

“If the two of you are done having a moment…” Blaise teased them.

“Oh, shut it!” Pansy snapped, though there wasn’t any genuine annoyance behind it.

Hydrus rolled his eyes at his friend. “Like you’re not to have a moment of your own as soon as you meet up with Parvati.”

Blaise looked away in a useless attempt to hide the dark flush on his face.

Despite initially wanting to go to the Yule Ball with Tracey, Blaise had bounced back quite quickly when Padma had told him that her twin sister Parvati didn’t have a date. Blaise and Parvati didn’t know each other very well, but they both found the other attractive and had easily agreed to attend the dance together. They’d even started spending more time together, which Hydrus suspected was about far more than the “just planning for Yule Ball” excuse Blaise always gave his friends. 

“Speaking of,” said Blaise, maintaining his typically cool composure as best he could, “I’m heading off to meet her now at the bottom of Gryffindor Tower. Care to join me, Millicent?”

Millicent shrugged. “Might as well,” she replied. “It might be nice to make an entrance with my date. Besides, I doubt the professors would let Dade into the dance without me escorting him.”

Much like with Hydrus, Dade had been told rather than asked by his date to go to the Yule Ball. The two had fancied each other for ages now—at least according to Pansy—and Millicent had finally decided to do something about it. Dade had expressed his immense relief when he’d told Hydrus. He’d been quite nervous about asking Millicent on a date, and was grateful she’d been the one to “ask” instead.

“We’ll go with you,” Vince volunteered, gesturing to himself and Greg. “We want to hang out with Dade, too.”

Greg nodded in agreement.

“I—” Blaise cut himself off. They all knew it was pointless to try and make Vince and Greg realize that Dade was going to the Yule Ball with Millicent as more than friends. “Alright, come on then.”

Millicent didn’t look nearly as convinced, but resigned herself to the fact that her friends would be tagging along and held the common room door open for them.

“Oh those poor, oblivious idiots,” Pansy muttered once those four made their way out of the common room, shaking her head. “They have no idea, do they?”

“No, they really don’t,” Tracey replied.

“I still don’t think Vince and Greg realized they’re going on a date with each other,” added Theo, “let alone whatever romance is going on between Millicent and Dade.”

Discussions about their friends continued as Hydrus and the others made their way to the giant front doors of the Great Hall. The corridor was loud and crowded, everyone calling out their friends’ names and huddling together in groups so as not to get separated from their dates.

“I hope there’s room for everyone,” Hydrus said to no one in particular as he watched the crowd.

“We fit more people than this in the Great Hall every single day,” Pansy reminded him.

Hydrus shrugged. “Yeah, but not for dancing.”

Pansy took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s going to be fine. The headmistress knows what she’s doing.”

“You’re right,” Hydrus conceded. If anyone could perfectly pull off a holiday ball within the confines of Hogwarts, it would be Headmistress McGonagall.

As if on cue, the doors swung open and the headmistress announced: “Welcome, everyone, to the least dangerous of all the Triwizard Tournament events—the Yule Ball!”

_The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people._ One of the tables was half occupied, and each person there was gesturing vigorously for Hydrus and Pansy to join them. It wasn’t until a lanky redhead stood up and gave them a thumbs-up that Hydrus realized it was Ron, Neville, Padma, and their third year dates who were trying to get his attention.

“Come on, come on!” Padma urged them. “We’re not technically supposed to reserve seats for other people, so sit down before anyone can tell us off for it.”

Hydrus and Pansy did as they were told, taking the seats to the left of Ginny. Padma, meanwhile, moved her bag and outer robe over to the two seats to her right so that Parvati and Blaise could sit beside her.

“You two look great,” said Ginny by way of greeting. “Especially you, Pansy. You look so elegant.”

Pansy beamed at her. “And you look so cute,” she told the younger girl. “Mint green really suits you.”

“I’m glad _someone_ thinks so,” Ginny replied, looking just a bit mutinous for a moment. “When I told my mum I got asked to Yule Ball, she sent me a dress catalog with all the pink dresses circled. Pink!” She cried out as if it were the most offensive word in the world. “With my hair color! I’d have looked like a strawberry.”

Luna patted Ginny’s hand. “You would’ve been an adorable strawberry,” she said dreamily.

Ginny’s whole face flushed red, and she really did look like a strawberry after all.

“Mum wanted me to get Hufflepuff colored dress robes, so I feel your pain,” Ron admitted, ruining whatever moment Ginny and Luna were having. “I’m fine wearing black, obviously—” he gestured to his black, white, and silver dress robes “—but can you imagine if I’d shown up decked out in yellow? I’d have looked like a right pillock.”

“How’s that different from any other time?” Hydrus teased.

“Oi! No need to be rude!”

Before Hydrus could reply, Ginny came back with: “Why don’t you try taking your own advice one of these days, Ron?”

Ron stuck his tongue at her.

“Are we interrupting something?”

Hydrus turned to see Blaise and Parvati standing beside the table and watching on with matching looks of amusement.

“Nah,” Ginny said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “It’s just a spot of sibling bonding. You’re more than welcome to join.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Parvati asked with a knowing smile as she sat down beside her twin. “And here I thought the proper term was rivalry.”

“Ron would need to have some sort of talent before I could be his rival,” Ginny zinged. “For now, I’m just objectively superior.”

Ron threw a balled up napkin at her.

The atmosphere at their table eventually settled down, but not before Millicent and Dade joined them—witnessing Ginny shove a dinner roll in her brother’s mouth to shut him up. Her methods had worked better than expected, and, in the time it took for her to give her hellos to her friends, Ron had inhaled half the bread basket.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Pansy halfheartedly scolded Ron before snatching a roll from the basket. “Colin, could you pass me the butter?”

“Sure thing!” Colin agreed, doing as he was asked. 

Neville’s eyebrows shot up as he turned to Ron. “Wait. Have you been eating just… plain bread this whole time?”

Ron shrugged. “What can I say? Bread’s amazing.”

“In his defense,” Pansy said after finishing her first bite, “this is really good bread. Hydrus, you should have some.”

Half a roll found itself smushed into Hydrus’ mouth before he could so much as reply. As unexpected as it was, he did indeed have to agree with the others that it was really good bread—far fluffier and more buttery than it had any business being.

“Pansy, I don’t think that’s how couples are supposed to feed each other,” Blaise teased. “It’s not usually so… aggressive.”

“I don’t mind,” said Hydrus. And he didn’t. He just wished he’d had more than a half second warning before it happened. Maybe then he would’ve been able to open his mouth for it instead of having it shoved against his teeth until his mouth opened of its own accord.

The rest of dinner passed in much the same way—proper manners entirely forgotten in favor of having fun and teasing one another. Colin even got out his camera at one point to photograph Padma and Parvati throwing green beans at each other, causing both girls to ask if they could pose for an even more ridiculous food fight photo in exchange for copies to send to their parents.

And then, finally, it was time for the first dance. The champions and their dates took to the dance floor, and once again, Hydrus was grateful that Karkaroff’s plot to enter him into the tournament had failed. He wasn’t necessarily a bad dancer, not after his parents had taken it upon themselves to teach him, but he was still terribly self-conscious about his abilities. Waltzing in front of the entire school, several Ministry officials, and the delegations from Beuaxbatons and Durmstrang would’ve been a nightmare.

Hermione, however, seemed perfectly at ease on the dance floor, allowing Viktor Krum to lead them gracefully around the room. She looked lovely in her floaty, gauzy periwinkle dress and a huge grin on her face. Hydrus was glad she was having such a nice time—even if her date was quite a bit older than her and sure to garner her all sorts of unwanted media attention.

Hydrus cautioned a glance in Ron’s direction, and saw that he wasn’t nearly so happy for Hermione and Viktor. Instead, he was doing his best not to scowl in their direction, though he could do nothing about the jealous gleam in his eyes. Ron had been terribly put-out to learn that Viktor was straight, and even though he hadn’t kept it secret that he was jealous that Hermione got to be the seeker’s date, he hadn’t held it against her that she was more Viktor’s type than he was. He did, however, hold it against Viktor Krum that the man wasn’t as flexible regarding his partner’s gender as Ron was.

“It just doesn’t make sense that he’d choose to limit himself like that,” Ron had grumbled.

Hydrus hadn’t had it in him to explain to Ron that not everyone was bisexual like he was.

It wasn’t long until other couples began making their way to the dance floor—Hydrus and Pansy included. Pansy was a far better dancer than Hydrus, but it was clear she was still having fun despite her date’s lesser skills. Hydrus, meanwhile, was relieved he hadn’t once stepped on Pansy’s toes.

“You’re not as bad as you think you are,” she told him halfway through their second dance. “In fact, you’re probably better than half the people here.”

Hydrus wasn’t convinced. “That’s only because I keep checking where my feet are to make sure I don’t trip us both,” he admitted.

“I saw Ernie Macmillan trample his date’s foot four times in the last five minutes, so by that standard, you’re doing amazing.”

“Poor girl,” Hydrus muttered. “I hope she doesn’t end up needing the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey’s too busy dancing with Father to tend to any patients.”

Pansy nudged Hydrus ever so slightly in the direction they were meant to for their next steps. “Oh, would you look at that? Hannah—Ernie’s date, that is—just up and went back to her seat to get away from his terrible dancing.”

Hydrus snorted, easily able to picture the scene in his head. Perhaps Pansy was right. He might never be a graceful, confident dancer, but he was still far better than the likes of Ernie Macmillan.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Hydrus looked up from his feet to see Parvati with her hand extended to Pansy and a mischievous smirk on her lips.

Pansy looked back and forth between Hydrus and Parvati before asking Hydrus: “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” Hydrus assured her. In all honesty, he was relieved that he’d be able to take a break from dancing without disappointing his date. He bowed out of the dance and returned to their table, stifling a chuckle when he heard Parvati tell Pansy: “You’ll never guess what I overheard Lily Moon tell Fay Dunbar while I was dancing with Blaise earlier.” Those two really did love their gossip.

Ron, Neville, and Padma were all still at the table when Hydrus sat back down. Luna and Ginny were dancing with each other, Colin had somehow ended up as Hannah Abbott’s new dance partner, and Millicent and Dade had left to go find Vince and Greg.

“Having fun?” Hydrus asked his friends.

Padma frowned. “Not as much as I thought I would,” she admitted. “As nice as it is that Colin’s here, I wish I’d had a real date tonight.”

Hydrus nodded along, remembering what Daphne had said about how Padma had wanted to go with Neville. “It’s not too late to pair up with someone,” he told her. “Plenty of people are swapping dates and dance partners out there.”

“Maybe,” was Padma’s noncommittal response.

“I’m not much for dancing, personally,” Ron said, glancing worriedly at Padma as though he feared might ask him to escort her to the dance floor. “Mindyou, that muggle music at the Malfoy Yule Gala last year was fun, but so far all the music tonight’s been way too stuffy.”

“Me neither,” Hydrus agreed. “It’s like my feet and my brain become disconnected from one another the second I try.”

“I don’t mind it,” Neville piped up. “Gran had me in dance lessons from the time I could walk. It’s probably the only thing requiring good coordination that I can do well.”

Padma gave Neville an appraising look, which Ron caught and looked terribly relieved by. “Oh, I love this song,” she gushed not a moment later, tapping her foot to the beat.

“Yeah,” Neville agreed, entirely oblivious. “It’s a good one.”

Padma turned to Neville with a gleam in her eye. “Well come on then, Neville,” she told him. “Let’s dance.”

“Huh?” came Neville’s intelligent reply before he was dragged by the arm onto the dance floor.

“Better him than me,” Ron declared as the two of them began to dance.

“Daphne told me a few weeks ago that Padma wanted to go with Neville all along,” Hydrus confided in his friend.

Ron considered that for a moment before deciding: “Well she ought to be blunt with him then, or else Neville’s never going to figure it out. He hasn’t exactly got the confidence to ask a girl on a date, you know?”

Hydrus couldn’t help but agree. Neville was just as clueless in romance as he was, and that was saying something.

Eventually, Pansy returned from dancing with Parvati and plopped down in the seat next to Hydrus. She looked a bit winded, and her cheeks were tinged with a lovely shade of pink. “Lily Moon saw two Aurors in formal robes, casing the dance as if they were looking for something,” she explained. “And while Parvati was telling me what Lily Moon said, we saw one of the Aurors go outside with your father. Do you want to go investigate with me?”

But Hydrus didn’t have a chance to reply. Pansy gulped down half her glass of water and then dragged him by the sleeve in the direction of the apparent action. He gave Ron a confused look, but he only grinned and gave a thumbs-up. It wasn’t until the couple made it into the courtyard and saw about a dozen couples sneaking around in the bushes and behind trees that Hydrus understood why.

“Ugh,” he grimaced. “Don’t they know there are less public places for that?”

“Maybe so, but it gives us an excellent cover story if we get caught snooping,” Pansy pointed out.

Hydrus just shook his head. He doubted that anything interesting was going to happen between his father and the Auror. Father was terribly boring for a Dark Lord and never got in trouble with the law—especially now that he was involved in shaping said laws. And as for any crimes against him that that Father would need to be aware of, well, murder plots were a bit old hat for the entire family.

“—that the leak can’t be coming from the DMLE.”

Hydrus froze. So much for it being unimportant business. He’d truly hoped that drama involving him and his family had abated for the year, but apparently that was too much to ask.

Pansy cocked her head to the side, gesturing for him to follow her to a closer vantage point.

“And so you felt the need to tell me here?” Father asked the Auror harshly. “Out in the open where anyone could overhear? Don’t you have any idea how reckless that was of you?”

Even in the semi-darkness, Hydrus could see the Auror grow pale. “But information of this magnitude is—”

“Highly classified!” Father cut him off.

With that, silencing wards were placed around their conversation, filling Hydrus and Pansy’s ears with a soft buzzing sound where words had once been. And, for the second time in just a few minutes, Hydrus found himself being once again dragged along by the sleeve of his robes.

“What do you think that was about?” Pansy asked, eyes alight with curiosity. “Aside from there being a leak somewhere in the Ministry, I mean.”

Hydrus shrugged. He had no idea. He wasn’t privy to all of his father’s dealings, especially not where government involvement was concerned. But if he had to guess— “Something to do with Dumbledore probably.”

“Do you think maybe someone’s feeding Dumbledore Ministry secrets?” Pansy guessed.

It was a very logical guess, and for that reason, Hydrus doubted it was the case. Or rather, he doubted they were secrets of any importance. Dumbledore had never made sense before, and Hydrus doubted the old man would start now. Besides, there had been nothing in the news to indicate that either Dumbledore or Grindelwald had gotten any better at planning their attacks. Suffice to say it was, at the very least, not important security related information being passed to them—if anything was being passed to them at all.

They didn’t get much more time than that to discuss the matter. Almost as soon as they’d gone back inside, Headmistress McGonagall had announced that curfew would be soon. Hydrus walked Pansy back to the Slytherin common room while she came up with conspiracy theories around what they’d overheard. 

“We’ll talk about it more tomorrow, yeah?” Pansy asked once they’d arrived in the common room.

Hydrus nodded. “Yeah, definitely,” he agreed even though he wasn’t sure what else there was to say.

Pansy beamed at him, and then, standing up on her toes, kissed him right on the mouth. Hydrus was so shocked that he didn’t realize what was happening at first. When his brain finally caught on, though, he kissed back, which made Pansy smile once she pulled away. It was chaste and unexpected and ended too soon, but Hydrus thought it was the perfect first kiss.

“Goodnight then,” Pansy said suddenly, cheeks flushed. “Don’t forget about the Ministry leak.”

Hydrus could only stare in surprise as Pansy hightailed it to the girls’ dormitories. It was as if his brain had shut down entirely. There were so many things he wanted to think about—the fun he’d had tonight, the Ministry leak, the kiss—that he ended up unable to think of anything at all. Sighing, he headed up to bed. Things really needed to stop happening all at once.


	17. Skeeter's Big Scoop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rita skeeter's yule ball article has an unintended reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't own harry potter

Despite their plans to solve this latest mystery, Hydrus and Pansy found themselves unable to come up with any theories about the mystery Ministry leak beyond that it was almost certainly someone feeding information to Dumbledore and Grindelwald. That alone was a horrible revelation, but it wasn’t nearly as specific as they’d wanted to get. After all, not every department was created equally. Someone from the Department of Magical Games and Sports giving away secrets, for instance, wouldn’t be nearly as worrisome as a leak coming from the DMLE or Department of Mysteries.

With hardly anything about Dumbledore and Grindelwald showing up in the papers, narrowing down their search, narrowing down the possibilities was proving to be impossible. It was as if, despite this apparent leak, the dastardly duo had decided to lie low for the time being. At best, Hydrus and Pansy could assume Dumbledore and Grindelwald were still in the country. What they were up to beyond that was a mystery.

“Maybe we should focus on likely people instead of departments,” Hydrus suggested, not wanting to give up the search even without their lack of leads. “I mean, it’s got to be a pureblood supremacist or an anti-creature bigot, right? No one else would want to support the likes of Dumbledore.”

“It’s probably just that annoying Umbridge bitch,” Pansy had said offhandedly, a fair bit of nastiness in her voice. “She’s certainly prejudiced enough to like Dumbledore and Grindelwald.”

Hydrus grimaced, remembering the things Sirius and Remus had told him about Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge. She had made a name for herself drafting horribly bigoted legislation over the years, and her favorite targets for persecution were so-called half-breeds. Job restrictions for werewolves. Bans on ethical sourcing of blood for vampires. She’d even gone as far as to publicly denounce the recently passed bill to protect house elves from abuse, claiming that they weren’t intelligent enough to understand what they did wrong without being harshly punished. She never got very far with her crusade against all things “impure”, but one thing was clear—the woman took personal offense to the existence of anything and anyone that wasn’t a purely human pureblood.

“You’re probably right about that on the whole prejudice front,” Hydrus conceded, “but she doesn’t seem ambitious enough to get into trading secrets.”

“Plus,” drawled Draco, appearing out of seemingly nowhere and taking a seat next to Hydrus, “she’s too disgustingly devoted to Fudge to do anything that might make him look bad.”

Pansy sniggered. “Why, of course,” she agreed, humor evident in her voice. “Fudge does well enough making himself look bad even without her getting into anything she shouldn’t. If anything, she’d be needing to do damage control for that walking disaster.”

Hydrus couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Maybe tattling to Grindelwald _is_ her idea of damage control.”

After that particular conversation, it became an inside joke amongst the Slytherins to blame every and any outed secrets on Umbridge leaking them to Grindelwald. News of a pop quiz in Transfiguration getting out beforehand? Umbridge must’ve wanted former headmaster Dumbledore to know the goings on in the school he’d fled. Gossip around the school about who’s been snogging in the Astronomy Tower? Clearly Umbridge told Grindelwald because she thought he’d disapprove of the couple. It was all a bit ridiculous, but everyone enjoyed their new joke all the same.

Theo, by far, was the best at coming up with tattletale Umbridge jokes. His own preference was not the simple offhand comments about secrets getting out, but rather, he preferred impersonating the Minister’s undersecretary whenever he got the chance. He’d even gone as far as channeling her grating voice while mimicking one of Draco’s old “my father will hear about this” tangents.

“Proper British purebloods mingling with _foreigners_ and _half-breeds_?” he’d shrieked in an overly girly voice. “Gellert Grindelwald will hear about this!”

Much to everyone’s surprise, no one found this funnier than Draco. He’d deny it until his dying breath, but they’d all seen him nearly fall out of his chair laughing at that particular rendition.

But joking about Umbridge was far from the biggest new thing to talk about at Hogwarts. As always, the British wizarding community couldn’t go too long without some major scandal to gossip about, and this winter break was no exception. Two days after the Yule Ball, everyone’s copies of the _Daily Prophet_ flew in halfway through breakfast, announcing in great big bolded letters—

**TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT YULE BALL SUCCESS**

**Event a Beacon of Diversity and International Cooperation**

The by line read Rita Skeeter.

“This should be good,” Daphne said sincerely, admiring the picture of the champions’ first dance that accompanied the article. “Sounds like it’ll be both a fluff piece and a progressive statement rolled into one.”

Daphne’s initial assessment proved right. Skeeter’s article praised the Triwizard Tournament Yule Ball’s success at bringing the three schools together even closer than before. She made a huge deal of how both the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons champions went with dates from Hogwarts—as well as how countless other students followed suit in what Skeeter described as “an initiative to foster better international relations”. Hydrus highly doubted that was the true reason, but it certainly sounded more official than Draco agreeing to go with Noel because he was fit or Hermione going with Viktor Krum because he knew she wasn’t a quidditch fan who’d harass him about his career the whole night.

“Oh, we’re not dating. He just wanted to be safe from fangirls,” Hermione had explained the morning after the dance. “Honestly, we spent more of the night talking about the history of Scandanavian rune stones than acting romantic. It was still a lot of fun, though. In fact, I think it was probably for the best that neither of us tried to make a genuine go of it.”

This admission had the bizarre side-effect of Ron deciding to research rune stones in an apparent attempt to find something he could bond with Krum over if given the chance. However, this was not to be. Ron found himself genuinely enthralled by the topic of rune stones and declared them yet another branch of divination that was far more interesting than Trelawney’s class. By the time his preliminary research was done, he was more interested in discussing his newfound interest with Hermione than using it as a way to get in with Krum.

But Skeeter’s article didn’t stop with simply pointing out those who’d gone to the Yule Ball with someone from another school. She also went to great lengths to point out anyone not of purely human ancestry in attendance, and how unprecedented such a thing was. Both Hagrid and Madame Maxime were outed as half-giants—which surprised no one despite not having heard it confirmed before. While the article spoke of their heritage positively and congratulated them on earning such respectable positions despite their creature status, neither Madame Maxine nor Hagrid were pleased with all the attention they’d gotten as a result.

While Hydrus and his friends wanted to let Hagrid know they supported him, the Beauxbatons students were doing well enough on their own at being fiercely protective of both him and their headmistress. It was almost as if they’d formed an unofficial protective guard around the two half-giants, constantly running interference to keep any potential naysayers as far away as possible. The most Hydrus had been able to manage without getting shooed away by the Beauxbatons brigade was a grin and a thumbs up sent in Hagrid’s direction.

Fleur’s veela status was mentioned in the article as well. Skeeter was in turns sympathetic to Fleur’s obvious struggles with her date—Ravenclaw Roger Davies—and his inability to look past her attractiveness in order to properly talk to her, and supportive of the young woman’s refusal to let her heritage keep from claiming the spotlight through the illustrious Triwizard Tournament. She was apparently the first witch of known nonhuman heritage to ever be chosen for the tournament, and Skeeter praised her at length for being so brave in entering in light of this fact.

The long-standing rumors of veela heritage in the Malfoy family also cropped up in the article. Skeeter wrote that she was curious as to whether Noel’s experience with those of veela ancestry through going to school with Fleur had anything to do with his being able to act completely normal around Draco. What Skeeter failed to mention was that, while veela ancestry tended to make one more attractive in an ethereal sort of way, only women inherited the hypnotic allure that came with their creature blood.

Draco, of course, was insufferably smug about the implications that he was so good looking that he must have inherited the allure just like Fleur had. “I always knew I was exceptionally beautiful,” he’d declared with a smirk, “but this goes to show that I’m irresistible.”

The only thing that kept his ego in check was when Blaise pointed out: “Clearly you’re not that beautiful if you still haven’t managed to get Ron’s attention.”

Blaise received a stinging hex for his efforts.

Remus’ werewolf status also made an honorable mention in Skeeter’s article. She had sung his praises as the longest lasting Defense professor Hogwarts had seen in nearly fifty years, and had made several mentions of him being part of the pilot program to hire known werewolves in the wake of the equal employment legislation that had come out shortly before he started. She declared both him and the legislation a shining success, and posited how this might affect future equal rights legislation.

While not at all a secret to the students of Hogwarts, the information regarding Remus in the article came as quite the surprise to the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. Their reactions ranged from support to curiosity to, unfortunately, utter revulsion. Barely an hour had passed before Remus ended up having to hide himself away in his quarters to avoid the mix of questions and threats he’d received throughout the day.

“Do you think we should go and check on him?” Hermione had asked after their last class for the day.

“I’m not sure,” Hydrus admitted. “I mean, he’s probably avoiding people for a reason. I don’t know that us going to see him would be any help.”

Hermione worried her lower lip. “You might have a point,” she conceded, “but I still don’t think he should all alone all day. It can’t be easy, dealing with all of this.”

Hydrus felt that was the biggest understatement he’d ever heard. Lycanthropy had only been declared a protected disability status under the law two short years ago, and while things had greatly improved for werewolves as a result, there was still a great deal of stigma in their society. Plenty of people still looked down on werewolves as both inferior to wizards and as dangerous creatures. And even without the lingering stigma, two years of the right to fair employment didn’t make up for the lifetime of self-hatred most werewolves had suffered from.

Remus was no stranger to said self-hatred. He had spoken candidly in both Defense against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures about the way things were before the creation of Wolfsbane, as well as the years before it became both affordable and commercially available. Solitary werewolves were prone to madness, aggression, and self-mutilation in the absence of prey, while werewolves in packs often engaged in violent territorial disputes. And even though practicing certain forms of mind magic could alleviate the worst of lycanthropy’s psychological symptoms, too few werewolves had access to that knowledge.

He’d gone on to explain not just the known facts of lycanthropy’s effects on werewolves and society as a whole, but also the stress that these violent, intermittent blackouts put upon the afflicted person. As far as Remus was concerned, it was the morning after each full moon that had the most profound effect on his mental state. He’d described often waking in a panic, unable to remember the previous night’s events and terrified of whatever damage he might’ve inflicted on himself or others. For decades, he believed himself to be the very monster the most bigoted of wizards claimed he and his kind were.

When Hydrus and Hermione noticed that Remus didn’t show up for dinner in the Great Hall that night, they made their decision. They needed to see their honorary uncle and let him know they were there for him. And so, once they finished eating, they made their way towards Gryffindor territory and knocked on the door to Remus’ personal quarters.

But it wasn’t their professor who answered the door. Instead, they were greeted by the sight of a rather exasperated looking Sirius.

“Oh, thank Merlin!” he said when he saw them, quickly ushering the twins inside. “Reinforcements! Come on in; don’t be shy. We’ve got a werewolf to cheer up!”

Hydrus and Hermione exchanged a worried look and did as they were told. It must’ve been worse than they thought if Sirius was struggling to lift Remus’ spirits on his own.

“Moony, you’ve got company,” Sirius informed his husband, who was sitting curled up on the end of the couch with a blanket wrapped tightly around him and a cup of hot cocoa in his hands.

Remus looked up at the two teens, his amber eyes rather dull, as he gave them a sad sort of smile. “Hello, Hydrus, Hermione,” he greeted them. “What brings you here tonight?”

“I think you know exactly why we’re here,” Hermione countered.

Hydrus nodded in agreement. “I’d ask how you’re holding up, but the answer’s pretty clear.”

“Why don’t the two of you sit down?” Remus suggested, gesturing to the empty space on the couch. “Sirius, would you mind ordering us a round of hot cocoas?”

Sirius grinned. “Sure thing, love.”

Hydrus plopped down on the opposite end of the couch, while Hermione squeezed in between him and Remus. The three of them sat together in awkward silence, no one sure of how to start their much needed conversation, as they waited for Sirius to return.

Luckily, they didn’t have to wait long. Sirius and a house elf joined them hardly a few minutes later with four cups of hot cocoa. They each grabbed a cup—even Sirius, who took a seat on the nearby recliner and stared at the others in anticipation for whatever was going to be said.

“The article itself was rather flattering,” Remus said after a while. His voice was quiet and his expression subdued, but he looked just a little bit better than he had when Hydrus first came in. “It praised the legislation that made it possible for me to work here, and even brought up how much better OWL and NEWT scores have been for Defense since I started. All in all, Skeeter put an incredibly positive spin on Hogwarts hiring a werewolf.”

Hydrus nodded in agreement. The article _had_ been quite favorable towards Remus. While Rita Skeeter had a history of inflammatory and often disparaging stories, she was surprisingly progressive in her portrayal of historically marginalized groups in their society. No one was sure if she actually agreed with her new stances on such topics or if she just enjoyed the new opportunities it gave her to bash Minister Fudge without worrying about the threat of a libel lawsuit, but she showed no signs of letting up on her new crusade.

“She was really fair about Hagrid and Madame Maxine being half-giants, too,” Hermione added thoughtfully, “but some people reacted badly to the news anyway.”

“Yeah,” Hydrus agreed. “I don’t think Skeeter meant any harm—” Sirius coughed something that sounded suspiciously like ‘for once’ “—but it doesn’t seem like she anticipated how the public at large would react.”

Remus gave a noncommittal hum and stared into his hot cocoa. “No, I suppose she didn’t.”

“She probably thought people would be just as happy about it as she claimed to be,” Hydrus said, despite feeling that such a mindset would be terribly shortsighted. “Things have been going so well with werewolves gaining the right to work that it probably didn’t even occur to her that people outside of Britain were still against the idea. I mean, we’ve all basically gotten used to it. She probably just forgot that it isn’t the norm everywhere.”

“Plus it hasn’t all been bad,” Hermione assured him, patting her honorary uncle on the shoulder. “Sure, some of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have been horribly prejudiced about the whole thing, but plenty of others reacted positively.” Almost as an afterthought, she added: “And I can’t think of a single Hogwarts student who has a problem with you being a werewolf. It has no bearing on you being the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor the school has seen in half a century.”

“And besides,” Sirius eagerly added, “you’re far too good at defense for any of the naysayers to pose a threat to you.”

Hydrus cringed a bit at that. If this was Sirius’ best attempt at a pep talk, then it was no wonder that Remus had spent the day in hiding. Hydrus would too if he were in Remus’ shoes.

Much to Hydrus’ surprise, Remus snorted and gave his first genuine smile since they’d come to visit. “I suppose you’re right,” Remus told his husband. “A few human teenagers aren’t exactly a match for a werewolf with a Defense mastery.”

Sirius grinned. “Even if your spells failed you, you could always rip them to shreds with your bare hands.”

“No,” Remus said with a mock frown, holding up one of his hands. “They’re wolf hands, not bear hands.”

Hydrus could barely hide his shock that Remus would say something so absurd. Hermione simply rolled her eyes. Sirius, however, laughed so hard at the terrible pun that he was left gasping for air. Then again, no other reaction could be expected from someone who never missed an opportunity to do his beloved “serious/Sirius” pun.

“That’s the first joke you’ve made all day, Moony,” Sirius told him, still recovering from his laughing fit. “It looks like you might make a recovery from all of this after all.”

Remus looked over at his husband with fondness. “I suppose you might be right about that. Still, it’s all a bit overwhelming. I think I’d prefer to never be mentioned by name in the newspaper ever again.”

Hydrus gave a sympathetic nod. He remembered all too well his own history with “fame” and being in the papers—first with being hounded for being “Harry Potter” from the very moment he stepped foot into Diagon Alley, and then as one of the formerly missing Gaunt-Lestrange twins found at last. Even when the attention wasn’t negative, it had still been too much to handle at times.

“I know how intense it can be to suddenly have everyone’s eyes on you,” Hermione admitted, reminiscing on her own nightmare of going from unknown muggle-born to famed kidnapping victim, “but you won’t have to deal with it all by yourself. You’ve got Sirius, and you’ve got us.”

“What she said, Remus,” Sirius agreed. “We’re not about to abandon you to the masses.”

“As if I could ever get rid of you, Padfoot,” Remus teased.

Sirius grinned. “Damn right! You’re stuck with us forever!”

“Your pack is here for you,” Hydrus said, surprising everyone in the room—including himself. He could only hope he didn’t accidentally offend Remus with his pack reference. He knew the man could get a bit touchy at times when it came to werewolf terminology used outside of the full moon.

But Remus only smiled at him, his eyes going a bit glassy with unshed tears. “I’m so glad,” he told them, “to have a pack as amazing as this one.”


	18. The Second Task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i own nothing  
> 2\. italics are yoinked from the transphobe who does own this series

“I think Cedric’s finally figured out that Merlin-be-damned egg.”

It was more than halfway through January when Ron plopped down beside Hydrus in Charms to tell him the news. With all the excitement over Yule Ball and who was dating who, the entire school had forgotten all about how the golden eggs that the champions stole from those dragons—Cedric Diggory included. It had been announced that the eggs contained a clue for the Second Task, something that had intrigued the entire student body until the eggs’ high-pitched screeching made itself known. 

Ever since winter break had ended, the Hufflepuff common room had become a never-ending nightmare of high-pitched screeching coming from Cedric’s golden egg. Ron and Justin had taken every opportunity to complain about the sound, and they weren’t the only ones. All of Hufflepuff had something to say about how much they hated that awful egg.

“And thank goodness he’s done it!” Justin declared as he claimed the seat to Ron’s left. “I thought I’d go deaf if I had to hear that horrific shrieking one more time.” 

Draco looked up from his Charms textbook and asked: “Any idea how he did it? I know there’s rumors going around that the sound represented a banshee wailing, but I can’t exactly picture how they’d incorporate a death omen into—” his voice changed into a mockery of pomposity and self-importance “—the newly revised and _completely safe_ Triwizard Tournament that they’ve promised no one will die in.”

Ron gave a derisive snort. “No clue, mate,” he admitted. “All I know is he apparently took it to the prefects’ bath with him to figure it out without bursting the rest of our eardrums.”

“He came back and said the rest of us didn’t have to worry about the egg bothering us anymore,” Justin added.

“Huh,” said Hydrus. “Weird.”

Draco simply shrugged. “Maybe; maybe not. I’ve had plenty of epiphanies in the shower over the years. Taking a bath might have just helped him think without any distractions.”

“Whatever you say, mate,” Ron replied, clapping his friend on the back. “I guess we can’t really judge after all, huh? I mean, Cedric _did_ figure it out in the end.”

But if Cedric had shared what he’d discovered with anyone, Hydrus never ended up hearing a word about it. Nary a whisper about the true nature of the Second Task made it through Hogwarts’ gossip mill. Not even Pansy had heard anything, and she was always among the first to know even the most obscure rumors.

The other two champions were just as incredibly tight-lipped about their task as Cedric. Only knowing looks and a sense of self-satisfaction proved that they’d figured out the clue within the egg. Perhaps they’d all received some kind of warning after all the nearly correct guesses that had circulated about the First Task, but no one was sharing a single scrap of information about the Second Task.

That wasn’t to say people weren’t guessing just like last time. Plenty of outlandish possibilities were whispered about in the halls of Hogwarts. However, even with the absurdity that was having teenagers face nesting mother dragons, none of the rumors about the Second Task were plausible. Students from all seven years could be seen in the library, frantically searching for magical creatures known for their screams. Anything that roared, yelled, or shrieked was considered fair game for increasingly nonsensical theories.

The most popular theory by far was trying to fight a banshee—a veritable death sentence considering their cries indicated that someone was soon to die. Hydrus didn’t understand how anyone could believe the Ministry would subject not only the champions but also all the spectators to the wail of a banshee. Doing so was bound to cause an international scandal of similar proportions to the Quidditch World Cup attack. They’d never take such a stupid risk, not even with morons like Fudge and Bagman in charge.

By the morning of the Second Task, more than half the students had gotten it into their heads that banshees were somehow going to be involved in the day’s task. And so, when breakfast had concluded and everyone was led to wooden bleachers set up around the perimeter of the Black Lake, those students were all understandably confused.

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, eyes alight with sudden understanding. “It’s merpeople!”

Ron cocked his head to the side, confused. “Merpeople?” he repeated. “But I thought they were supposed to have really beautiful voices.”

“Underwater, yes,” Hermione conceded, “but it sounds like screeching the second they surface due to the differences in how soundwaves are carried through the air versus water.”

“That explains how Cedric figured out the egg after taking it to the prefects’ bath,” Ron surmised, seemingly impressed with the brilliance of the clue. “It must’ve made perfect sense once he submerged it in the water.”

“Strange,” Hydrus pointed out, “but lucky that he thought to take it into the bath with him. Do you reckon someone tipped him off?”

Hermione shrugged. “Probably. Viktor told me that every single champion knew about the dragons beforehand. Apparently it’s considered tradition to cheat.” She didn’t look at all happy about that fact, her lips pursing in disapproval.

“Well he’s not wrong,” replied Theo, who had appeared behind them out of seemingly nowhere, with Draco, Blaise, and Pansy not far behind him. “Why, in the 1654 Triwizard Tournament—”

Theo regaled them with a lengthy play-by-play of what was now known as the Nuckelavee Nightmare of 1654 as the group trudged through the crowded stands in search of a spot with enough room for their group. Apparently it caused a minor international incident when the Beauxbatons champion had not only gotten tipped off about the nuckelavee being used but had begun covertly bribing the creatures to attack his opponents instead of him. To this day, controversy still surrounded the issue of whether or not the Beauxbatons champion ought to have been held at least partially responsible for the fact that his actions may have indirectly led to the Durmstrang champion’s death that day.

“Really?” Pansy had wanted to know, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I mean, obviously that’s really messed up that it happened that way, but the judges were the ones who thought it was a good idea to let teenagers face those skinless horse demons. If anything, they should be the ones held responsible.”

Hydrus was inclined to agree. “How’d they even manage to get ahold of three nuckelavees?” he wondered. “They’re not exactly known for leaving behind any survivors.”

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, looked about ready to vomit. Draco wasn’t too far behind.

“Moving on…” drawled Blaise, who also looked a bit nauseated by Theo’s story and the frankly unnecessary amount of detail he’d gone into, “what do you think is with the huge screens over the lake?”

Hydrus looked up to see what appeared to be a massive jumbotron with four different display screens levitating above the Black Lake. While the screens looked just like any modern muggle television, complicated runes had been placed around them—no doubt as a means to protect the technology from the confounding influence of the high levels of ambient magic on the grounds of Hogwarts.

“Justin told me that Fletchley Tech got permission to debut their new sports arena televisions for the second task,” Draco explained, looking relieved by the sudden change of topic. “There’s video cameras set up at various spots in the lake and attached to all three champions so that we can watch the task from different points of view.”

“Wicked!” Ron declared with a huge grin.

Draco nodded in agreement. “With any luck,” he added, “it’ll go so well that all the pro quidditch pitches will want the same setup.”

“Do you know if they’ll be selling the tape for this like they did for the World Cup?” Ron asked eagerly.

Now that Fletchley Tech had perfected and begun mass producing televisions (which were little more than home movie players due to the lack of wizarding television channels), Ron had begun writing up lists for which tapes he’d like to buy. His father had gotten a free copy of the World Cup footage through his job, but Ron knew one single tape wouldn’t be enough to sate his growing obsession with televised sports. He had dreams of a great big collection that he could display on shelves and in cabinets around the television now sitting in the living room of the Burrow.

“It’d be a waste if they didn’t,” Hydrus stated. “I mean, the camera equipment is already here. They might as well sell what they capture.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “You’re absolutely right about that.”

It wasn’t much longer before the stands finished filling up and the judges took their places on a wooden platform that jutted out into the lake like a small, sturdy dock. The champions had a dock as well, complete with medical tents on the chance that one of them got injured during the task. Everyone was ready and in place—all except for Ludo Bagman, who was giving a statement to a blonde reporter that could only be Rita Skeeter.

Bagman eventually ambled over to the judge’s table and sat down between Headmistresses McGonagall and Maxime. _He pointed his wand at his throat as he had done at the World Cup, said, "Sonorus!" and his voice boomed out across the dark water toward the stands._

_"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One… two… three!"_

A high-pitched whistle screeched, and the three champions jumped into action. Hydrus barely had time to see what sort of magic they were using to complete the task before they disappeared under the water’s surface.

“I wonder what it is that’s been taken,” Hermione mused.

“Hopefully nothing prone to water damage,” Hydrus replied.

Hermione frowned. “Well, yes. That’d be rather inconsiderate of the judges to ruin something the champions cared about.”

“I hope we don’t have to wait until the champions surface to find out,” added Draco. “It’d be anticlimactic to watch all this only for it to be their favorite robes or something equally unimportant.”

“Honestly, yeah,” Ron agreed. “But thank Merlin they’ve got those big televisions.” He gestured up the hovering jumbotron—which was currently showing a partially transfigured Viktor Krum swimming through a kelp forest. “Can you imagine how boring it would’ve been to sit here and stare at the lake for an hour?”

“I’d leave if that were the case,” Blaise replied.

Pansy nodded in agreement. “Definitely. Sitting out here in this weather for an hour with no entertainment sounds like a nightmare.”

“Look!” Theo suddenly exclaimed, pointing wildly to the jumbotron. “Fleur!”

Small, spindly hands had poked their way through the masses of kelp and were grabbing at the Beauxbaton champion. Within seconds, the owners of those spidery hands made themselves known. Grindylows. Dozens of their tiny, chubby bodies appeared from between the kelp leaves—with misshapen heads and wide mouths filled with razor sharp teeth all poised to bite at Fleur’s ankles like feral dogs.

“Oh no!” shouted Ludo Bagman through his ongoing _Sonorous_. “It looks like Ms. Delacour has run into a bit of trouble.”

“You think?” Pansy muttered sarcastically.

Fleur took out her wand and managed to blast the first few away, but more and more made their presence known until an entire swarm was chasing her through the help forest. Her spellwork made no difference. No matter how many times she sent out a blasting curse or how much force she put behind it, the grindylows kept coming.

She tried forcing them back with a shield charm, but unfortunately, she didn’t manage to repel all of them. One of the grindylows snuck up on her from behind and grabbed her leg. She kicked her leg out violently in the hopes of shaking it off. It was no use. Before she even managed to point her wand at the attacking grindylow, it bit down on her leg. Hard. Blood poured from the wound in translucent swirls, staining the surrounding water red.

“What a nasty bite!” commented Ludo Bagman.

“We gathered that much, thanks,” snarked Hydrus even though he knew their inept announcer would never hear him.

It wasn’t just that the bite looked bad. Fleur was beginning to grow pale, far paler than even her fair complexion ought to allow.

“She’s losing too much blood,” Hermione realized, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “Oh, I hope she doesn’t end up passing out. That could end really, really badly for her.”

Just as Hydrus began to worry that Fleur might genuinely be dragged to her death by grindylows, the Beauxbatons champion shot off some kind of spell that propelled her quickly to the water’s surface. She gasped and heaved as soon as the cold February air hit her lungs. And then, without so much as a moment of frustration at having failed the task, she sent up red sparks to let the officials know she needed rescuing.

“It looks like Ms. Delacour has forfeited the Second Task!” exclaimed Ludo Bagman, once again pointing out the obvious.

But things didn’t improve for Fleur just because she’d made it to the surface. While she’d managed to leave the grindylows behind, she was still losing blood from the deep wound in her leg. She’d grown ghostly white, and her lips were tinged blue from both the blood loss and the ice-cold water she was in. She looked tired, sluggish, and it was obvious to everyone watching that she was struggling to tread water.

Luckily, healers were able to retrieve Fleur and bring her to the tents for treatment before things became dire. She was still conscious—though clearly struggling to remain so—when she disappeared into the tent with the healers that had rescued her.

“Hopefully she won’t suffer any lasting damage,” Hermione said quietly.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine after a few blood replenishers and healing charms,” Pansy replied, though she also looked rather worried.

Hydrus, meanwhile, wasn’t all that concerned now that Fleur was with the healers. If healers had been able to fix the damage that the Dursleys had heaped upon both him and Dade, they’d have no problem fixing an injured leg.

Eventually, Hydrus and his friends found themselves once again glued to the scenes playing out on the jumbotron. Viktor had somehow managed to run into the giant squid, who, while typically quite friendly, didn’t take kindly to Viktor’s shark head. The squid puffed itself up in an attempt to look more menacing and chased the Durmstrang champion off with its many tentacles.

“I think I’ve just figured out what I’d do if I were a champion,” Ron declared, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

Draco arched an incredulous eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah,” he asserted. “I’d ride the giant squid all the way to wherever they’re keeping the hostages. It’d be way faster than trying to swim around the whole time.”

“How would you even manage that?” Hydrus wanted to know.

“No idea,” Ron admitted with a shrug. “Do you think it’d take food bribes? And what exactly does a giant squid eat anyway?”

“Children,” Blaise deadpanned.

“Oi!” said Ron in mock offense. “We might not be the most mature people, but that’s no reason to call us children.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Way to deliberately misinterpret my meaning.”

Hydrus couldn’t help but laugh at that.

While Viktor was busy fleeing from the giant squid, Cedric seemed to have gotten completely lost. He hadn’t shown up on one of the in-lake cameras in almost fifteen minutes. The only reason anyone knew where he was or what he was doing was because of the cameras that each of the champions were wearing. He was unharmed and there were no signs of danger near him, but there were no signs of anything else either. All that could be seen from his camera was dark, empty water.

Suddenly, Cedric cocked his head to the side. His eyes had closed and his face had scrunched up—giving off the impression that he was concentrating very, very hard on something. After a few seconds of complete stillness, he opened his eyes and veered left with new determination.

“I wonder what that was all about,” said Hydrus.

Pansy shrugged. “Maybe he heard something?” she suggested.

“That’s probably it,” agreed Theo. “Hopefully it was a good something and not something coming after him like with Fleur.”

Hydrus shuddered at the reminder. He hoped he didn’t have to see something like that again, especially not so soon. Witnessing one near-death experience in a day was more than enough for him.

The cameras pivoted back to Viktor’s progress, and Hydrus was amazed by what he saw. _A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, Hydrus saw faces… faces that bore no resemblance at all to_ any illustration or painting Hydrus had ever seen in a book.

_The merpeople had grayish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at Viktor as he swam past; one or two of them emerged from their caves to watch him better, their powerful, silver fish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands._

“Wicked!” Ron breathed, eyes alight with excitement. “Merpeople look so much cooler than all the books claim.”

“And their spears are incredible for not having access to forges under water,” Theo agreed, looking just as transfixed by the sight as Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she muttered. “Are weapons all you care about?”

“Of course not!” Ron assured her. “We also love food.”

Up on the screens, the dwellings grew closer and closer together. _A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Three people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson._

Or rather, it was the near-perfect facsimiles of three people—all of whom presumably meant something to the champions. Cho Chang, Hermione, and a little blonde girl who looked quite similar to Fleur all floated limply from their rope tethers. They looked so real, so utterly lifelike, that Hydrus had to double check that his sister was indeed in the stands with him and not below the lake’s surface.

“That’s incredibly jarring,” Hermione muttered, eyes fixed in a sick mix of fascination and horror as she looked at her submerged lookalike.

Hydrus was inclined to agree. For as startling as it was to see the lookalike of his sister like that, he couldn’t imagine how much harder it was for her to see herself.

“Muggles have a term for the revulsion we’re feeling right now,” Hermione continued, turning to her brother. “It’s called the Uncanny Valley Effect. The more lifelike a robot or doll is, the more upsetting people find the little inconsistencies that keep it from being fully human. I guess we should consider ourselves lucky that the dolls’ eyes are all closed seeing as that’s usually the worst part of it.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about there being a term for this,” Draco admitted, still staring at the “hostages” with his nose scrunched up in distaste. “Naming it implies that there’s significantly more examples of people seeing something as awful as this.”

“Oh, there are,” Hydrus informed him, suppressing a shudder as he recalled old commercials for some frankly terrifying lifelike dolls back when he lived with the Dursleys. “For some reason, muggles are obsessed with making baby dolls as realistic as possible. They’ve got ones that can open and close their own eyes.”

Pansy grimaced at the description. “What in Merlin’s name in a baby doll, and why would anyone want one?”

“Well—” began Hermione, a determined look on her face.

Just as Hermione finished explaining the concept of baby dolls and how she believed they were propaganda to instill strict gender roles regarding girls’ rolls in motherhood from a horrifyingly young age—eliciting all manner of disgusted reactions from their pureblood friends—Viktor Krum reached the facsimile hostages. Using his transfigured shark teeth, he ripped through the tether and used it like a leash to pull the fake Hermione up to the surface. It was incredibly awkward, and Hermione would have certainly experienced a few abrasions and maybe even a concussion from the less than stellar ascent, but Hydrus and his friends clapped regardless at his finishing the task first.

“Aren’t you glad you weren’t really underwater, Hermione?” Draco asked as the rest of their friends cheered on. “Pretty sure you’d be all bruised and scraped up after that whole shark rescue.”

“I’m pretty sure a few scrapes and bruises would be the least of my worries if I’d spent over an hour submerged in the Black Lake in the middle of winter,” Hermione pointed out. “I mean, the odds of developing hypothermia would be pretty high, especially if the officials that put the hostages under the water didn’t think to add warming charms or other protections.”

“Plus there’s the whole being underwater aspect,” Hydrus added. “I have no idea how they’d manage to stop real living people from needing to breathe while they were down there. Even if you were put in a magically induced coma, you’d still have to breathe and would end up inhaling a bunch of water.”

Hermione shuddered at the reminder. “That’s probably why they chose not to use real people for the task.”

“I bet you Dumbledore would’ve,” Pansy piped up. “He seems like the type of psychopath to tie up underage students in the middle of the lake for the sake of a game.”

“Yeah,” Hydrus agreed. “You’re probably right about that.”

Within mere moments of Viktor coming up for air with his hostage, Cedric Diggory arrived at the mer-village town square. The Hogwarts champion cut the facsimile Cho Chang’s tether and rocketed up to the water’s surface. He paddled over to the docks behind Viktor, and, after casting a quick _Tempus_ , looked quite relieved to have finished the task within the allotted time.

“What an anticlimactic end after what happened with the grindylows and the giant squid,” complained Pansy. “Couldn’t the merpeople have at least pretended to go after the champions with their spears?”

“Honestly,” Draco agreed, “what was the point of them drawing their spears if they weren’t going to try anything with them? They didn’t even try to block the champions from getting closer.”

“Maybe they were just there to make sure no one took the wrong hostage,” Ron speculated. “Or even to make sure no one cheated by freeing all the hostages before the others could get there.”

Hydrus snorted in amusement. “Now that I’d have liked to see.”

For several long, silent minutes, the judges deliberated on scores. Headmistress McGonagall had even gotten up to speak to one of the merpeople who had poked their head up above water to weigh in. They might have seen most of what happened on the screens floating above the lake, but the merpeople had been participants in setting up the task.

The headmistress returned to the judges, and after yet another round of what appeared to be a rather animated discussion, Ludo Bagman made an announcement—

_"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows…_

_"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."_

Applause broke out.

“That’s charitable of them,” Pansy said, clapping along with everyone else in the stands. “I was expecting she’d get a zero for not finishing.”

“Viktor Krum,” Bagman continued, “utilized a reasonably well-executed partial self-transfiguration and returned first with his hostage—arriving ten minutes before the hour was up. However, in his haste to return to the surface, he accidentally injured his own hostage. For that, we award him forty points.”

The crowd applauded once more, though a bit louder than they had with Fleur. Some were complaining that his point loss for injuring his hostage wasn’t fair because it wasn’t a real person, but Hydrus disagreed. He’d still seen his sister get banged up, and even though it wasn’t really her, it had still bothered him. As far as Hydrus was concerned, the point loss was entirely fair.

But Ludo Bagman wasn’t finished speaking. “Cedric Diggory also used the Bubble-Head Charm and returned second—barely a minute after Viktor Krum. He also returned with his hostage completely unscathed. We award him forty points as well.”

This garnered the loudest round of cheering yet. Part of it was home-field advantage, but it certainly helped that Cedric had tied for first in this round. The chances of a Hogwarts victory were growing, and it only made sense that everyone would be excited.

_"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June," continued Bagman. "The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."_

“At dusk?” Hermione said incredulously. “Why at dusk? Why not specify an actual time?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “No doubt he was trying to make it sound more intriguing than it actually is.”

“I just hope that doesn’t mean we have to sit outside in the dark,” Blaise stated. “I much prefer being able to see what’s happening.”

“Yeah,” Hydrus agreed. “It’s kind of stupid that they’d wait until dark. I get that it makes things more challenging for the champions, but it makes it harder to watch as well.”

Slowly but surely, the students returned to the castle, all immersed in their conversations about the task that had just occurred and the one that was yet to happen. One person among the crowd, however, was not nearly as excited as the rest. No one noticed the one pink-clad witch with a toad-like face who was glaring angrily as she watched the Lestrange twins disappear from her view.


	19. Magical Resonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bisexual (me) attempts to explain that magic wants what magic wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i don't own hp  
> 2\. i wrote all of this in like 3 hours, so sorry ??? also maybe you're welcome ???

One of the best things about the Second Task having come to a close was that no one had to pretend to care about those awful screaming eggs anymore. The downside, however, was that the champions hadn’t received a single hint as to what the Third Task was going to be. As was the case with just about every other mystery to come through Hogwarts’ corridors, nearly everyone was talking about what the Triwizard Tournament had in store next.

In all honesty, Hermione was getting sick of it all. She just wanted one normal year where the biggest thing she needed to worry about was end of year exams. It was bad enough that there was all this unnecessary drama due to the tournament, but her association with the Durmstrang champion had led to her being plagued with endless questions about him, his plans for the Third Task, and whether or not they’d continue their “relationship” after he went back to Bulgaria. No matter how much she insisted that they weren’t dating, girls (and some boys) from every House and every school pestered her endlessly with queries that all revolved around Viktor Krum.

To make matters worse, it was becoming clearer with each passing day that Viktor was developing _feelings_ for her despite his insistence that he was only interested in friendship. Hermione couldn’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t pursue him, and she didn’t know how to deal with that. Viktor Krum was both interesting and reasonably handsome—not to mention his growing interest in her. So why did the thought of him asking her out fill her with dread?

Hermione shook her head, silently wishing she could shake such thoughts out of her mind. What was wrong with her? Why was she so against the opportunity to go out with an all-around decent man like Viktor? Was she somehow defective for not being able to see whatever romantic quality nearly every other girl seemed to find in him?

These questions had been plaguing her for days now, and Hermione had begun to spend all her free time hiding out in Ravenclaw tower in the hopes of avoiding Viktor, the questions of others, and her own inner turmoil. It was far, far easier to ignore the feelings of being _wrong_ when she was nowhere near the source of said feeling. She knew, of course, that she couldn’t remain hidden in the tower forever, but it served as a decent enough distraction for now.

And that was how Hermione found herself curled up in a plush blue loveseat in the corner of the Ravenclaw common room for the sixth afternoon in a row. She had spread her books out on her lap and on the armrests of her seat in an attempt to study, but very little studying was actually getting done. It was awful. She’d never before had a problem with clearing her mind and focusing on the task at hand. And it was Viktor and the stupid Triwizard Tournament’s fault.

“You’re feeling troubled.”

Hermione tensed at the sudden sound, only to relax when she registered who had spoken. She looked up from the book she was only pretending to read to see Luna, who stood a few steps away, watching over her, concern for her friend evident in her big, owl-like eyes.

“I…” Hermione hesitated, but found no reason not to admit to it. “I suppose I am.”

Luna plopped down in the chair next to Hermione. “That does seem to be the trend these days. Everyone’s so distracted by their wrackspurt infestations that they can’t make sense of the way their magic resonates with others. Sadly, it’s quite common in people of our age group.”

By now, Hermione had known Luna long enough to understand the meanings of the different “creatures” she used to explain the things she Saw. Wrackspurts were the manifestation of negative emotions such as guilt and anger and self-doubt that clouded a person’s judgement. The more troubled and conflicted a person was, the more of these wrackspurts Luna could see surrounding their head.

“It’s unusual to see so many wrackspurts swarming a mind as logical and organized as yours,” Luna continued. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you must be quite far removed from facts and definitions.”

“It… yeah, it is,” Hermione conceded.

“Is it to do with the pleiadians, isn’t it?”

“Pleiadians?” Hermione repeated, confused. She hadn’t heard that one yet.

Luna nodded sagely. “Oh, yes. The pleiadians are quite closely related to the wrackspurts, but they have their differences as well. Pleiadians mostly focus on making a mess of romantic entanglements.” She pursed her lips. “The whole school’s been horribly infested with them ever since the Yule Ball was announced, and it only seems to be getting worse. Have they spread to you as well?”

“Yes,” Hermione admitted without hesitation. If she were being wholly honest with herself, a part of her wished her problems truly did originate with these strange creatures rather than from her own mind. Regardless, shifting the blame made it far easier to talk about. “It’s about Viktor.”

“Seeing as you said his name like it was dirty, I’m assuming that it’s you who’s having problems with him and not the other way around,” Luna guessed.

“He wants more than friendship,” Hermione began, and suddenly, these past few days’ worth of inner turmoil were threatening to pour out. “That was all we agreed to for Yule Ball, and I was foolish enough to think he meant that.” She sighed. “Who knows? Maybe he did at the time. But now it’s getting more and more obvious that he wants me to be his girlfriend, and I don’t want that at all. And people are asking me all these questions about whether I’m dating him or if I’ll give him a chance, but I just want to be left alone.”

Even with all of the stress and distraction it caused her, Hermione hadn’t fully realized just how badly keeping her unwanted relationship problems to herself was affecting her until she began unloading onto Luna. It was as if her worries had been physically weighing down, pressing down hard on shoulders that now stood a little straighter.

Luna, meanwhile, stared at Hermione for a long time, her eyes wide and assessing. It wasn’t until Hermione started to feel unnerved— and feared that her confession hadn’t at all made sense—that the younger girl finally asked: “Have you considered that Viktor’s magic simply doesn’t resonate well with yours?”

“What do you mean by that?” Hermione asked, both curious and relieved that there may be some logical reason as to why she couldn’t muster up any romantic interest in Viktor.

“Everyone’s magic exists on an invisible plane only accessible to Seers and those with Mage Sight,” Luna explained. “Think of it like… hmm… well, I suppose it might be a bit like muggle sound waves. Most people can’t see them, but they still exist and still play out different sounds depending on the frequency.”

Hermione decided against correcting Luna by mentioning how no one could actually see sound waves.

“As wixen, we’re all emitting our own special sound waves—custom made for us based on the nature of our magic,” Luna continued. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world, a nervous habit that Hermione knew she’d picked up to better ignore judgemental stares. “Imagine that your magic sends out a sound like violins, classical and calm and elegant. It’s lovely on its own, but it gets muted by overbearing magics that sound like electric guitars and heavy drum beats. You’d naturally not want to attach yourself to someone with magic like drums because it doesn’t suit your violins. And in this case, Viktor’s a great big drum pounding away at the loudest volume.

“But there are certain sounds you’d be drawn to. Hydrus’ magic, for instance, sounds like cellos. You’d recognize it instantly and know on some level that he’s a close family member. And you might instinctively reach out in friendship to… say… flutes or oboes or harps.” Luna’s cheeks flushed pink, and Hermione wondered which of those instruments represented the younger girl. “Sometimes those sounds of friendship become something more, and sometimes it takes an entirely new but equally harmonic set of sounds to indicate a life partner. There are so many harmonies our magics can play together depending on the emotional bonds we form with those around us. But at some level, we’re all drawn to who we care about because our magic recognizes the harmony before we notice it at an intellectual level.”

Three years ago, Hermione would have dismissed an explanation like this outright as some kind of new age nonsense. Now though, after all this time immersed in the magical world, she could see no reason not to take Luna’s words at face value. Hadn’t she indeed felt that instinctive draw to Hydrus from the very moment they met at Kings Cross station as Hermione Granger and Harry Potter? Hadn’t she let her guard down and instantly let in Ron, Draco, Pansy, Padma, and the Weasley twins despite her the eleven years of being bullied by her muggle classmates that left her afraid to let anyone in? Luna spoke the truth. There was _something_ she couldn’t quite see or understand pulling her toward the people who were meant to be in her life.

And Viktor Krum wasn’t one of them.

She could accept him as a friend. She had no problem spending time around him. But that was hardly special. She was on friendly terms with plenty of people, and much like Viktor, she wasn’t interested in pursuing more than friendship with any of them. Even those among her friends and acquaintances who were objectively good-looking inspired nothing of love or romance within her. There was more between her and Fred or Theo or even Padma than there was with Viktor. And that didn’t mean there was anything wrong with her. They just didn’t resonate on a magical level.

A shy smile graced her lips. “It’s not my fault,” she said, not bothering to hide so much as an ounce of her relief. “We’re just not supposed to be together.”

“Well of course you’re not, silly,” Luna tittered. “It’s just a shame that the wrackspurts and pleiadians tried to trick you into thinking you should want to be together. You’re far better suited with someone whose magic compliments your own instead of masking it. You wouldn’t want to lose yourself, would you?”

“No, of course not,” Hermione readily agreed. “There’s too much I want to accomplish in life, and I can’t let someone who doesn’t even resonate with me get in the way.”

Luna nodded. “Exactly so. You’re much wiser than some of our friends, you know. Poor Ronald’s mind is so muddled by wrackspurts that he denies his perfect match, while Neville and Padma can’t even see what they truly desire yet. It’s such a tragedy that they’re spending so much time distracting themselves instead of engaging in a bit of self-reflection.”

Hermione could only guess that Ron’s perfect match was supposed to be Draco. After all, they’d always had a magnetic sort of relationship—even during the times where they were antagonistic towards each other. And there was no denying that Draco had fallen hard for their Hufflepuff friend. She supposed this was Luna’s way of admitting that those two were inevitable.

The mention of Neville and Padma surprised Hermione. She knew those two had gone on a few dates after spending half of Yule Ball dancing together. She’d thought their relationship was cute, that the two of them were well suited. It shocked her to learn that they were almost certainly not meant to be together.

“And what about you, Luna?” Hermione asked in order to stop herself from trying to get more information about Neville and Padma. “Do you know who you’re meant to be making harmonies with?”

A bright red blush bloomed on Luna’s cheeks, spreading all the way to her ears. “She isn’t ready yet,” she said quietly. “The pleiadians are still trying to trick Ginny into thinking she’s supposed to end up with a boy even though it’s clear she isn’t at all interested in boys. It’s quite frustrating.”

Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for Luna. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to know who she was meant to fall in love with, and to watch her intended deny her own feelings.

“She thinks she likes Neville right now,” Luna clarified, looking utterly dejected. “But really, she just wants to like Neville because she thinks it’s what her mum would want for her. Before that, she wanted to like Hydrus because he was supposedly Harry Potter—but even some legendary boy hero wasn’t enough to make her truly feel anything romantic towards boys. She lost interest almost as soon as Ronald started sending boring letters home about his friends during his first year. And I thought… well, I suppose it doesn’t matter what I thought back then. It doesn’t change anything.”

Hermione put a tentative hand on Luna’s shoulder. “She’ll figure it out soon enough,” she assured her young friend. “Like you said—she just wants to like boys, but she doesn’t actually like them. And someday soon, she’s going to figure out that what she really wants is her wonderful, dreamy best friend.”

Luna’s owl eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “Her dreamy best friend? But what about me?”

“You _are_ the dreamy best friend,” Hermione said with conviction. “And Ginny will see it, and she’ll be so in love with you when she does.”

Rather than respond, Luna got out of her chair and threw her arms around Hermione, hugging her so tight that it hurt to breathe. Her shoulders were trembling, and Hermione was vaguely aware that Luna was crying into her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Luna rasped. “Thank you so much. It’s… it’s just so hard sometimes. I want the future to be now so badly.”

Hermione returned the embrace. “I know what you mean,” she said, though she had a feeling she could never truly comprehend bearing the burden of waiting for a future she’d already seen the way Luna did. “But it will all work out. You know it will.”

Hermione didn’t know how long she and Luna stayed curled up on the same chair in the common room, but she could tell they both needed every single moment of it. Things would indeed work out just like she’d assured Luna, but the future was so vast and expansive and terrifying that neither girl quite knew when their great, important _eventually_ would happen. All they knew for certain was that, regardless of the future ahead, they didn’t have to persevere through the present alone. They had each other.


End file.
